


The Lions in Winter

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Category: Glee
Genre: Band Fic, Bars and Pubs, Best Friends, Biting, Bland Midwestern Palates, Blow Jobs, Brooklyn, Busking, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends to Lovers, Hot Wings Are Too Hot, M/M, Music, Music Venues, New York City, They Just Want Cool Wings Ok?, Things Done While Drunk That They Might Do Anyway If They Weren't Dumbasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puck and Finn discover more quickly than hoped that busking doesn’t pay the rent and leave money for anything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Busking

Puck likes to think of himself as an itinerant worker, but that mostly means that he stays in New York with Finn as long as he can before Kurt gets too impatient. After Kurt and Blaine had broken up for the _second_ time, Burt and Carole had pressured Finn for long enough that eventually he’d given in and moved to New York as requested, to ‘support’ Kurt. There isn’t room for Puck to move in permanently, or at least that’s what Kurt says in his impatient tone. 

Somehow, Puck isn’t surprised when he gets a phone call that Kurt’s gotten even more impatient, and now he wants Finn out too. Nearly two years after the breakup, Kurt is suddenly back together with Blaine, which of course means he no longer wants Finn in the loft. It’s close enough to winter that Puck’s job was only going to last a few more weeks, which makes it easier to walk out the door and point his bike towards Brooklyn again. 

Wisconsin Dells to Brooklyn is still fifteen hours of driving, which makes it close to thirty-six hours later when Puck parks illegally down the street from the loft and pulls out his phone to call Finn, blowing on his hand as he listens to it ring. 

“Hello?” Finn answers. 

“I’m here. Let’s go grab some dinner and figure out what’s next,” Puck says. “Or at least what’s tonight.” 

“Okay. I’ll be down in a second,” Finn says. 

Puck ends the call and pockets his phone, blowing on his other hand while he waits. “Barely even fall,” he says to himself, then whistles to get Finn’s attention as soon as he sees him come out of the building. 

“Yeah, it’s cold this year,” Finn says. “Bad time to have to find a new place.”

“Nice way of him to say ‘thanks for your support’,” Puck says with a snort. “Climb on. That coffee shop with the good sandwiches still open?” 

“Yeah, should be. And yeah, nothing says brotherly love like kicking your brother out, right?” Finn says. 

“Yeah, what’d Burt and your mom have to say about _that_?” 

“They wanted to know why I even moved to New York.”

“Revisionist history!” Puck says. “That’s almost impressive, considering how much they begged you to move out here.” He starts the bike again. “Hang on.” 

Finn wraps both arms around Puck’s waist and leans close to Puck’s ear. “Ready when you are.”

Puck nods once and pulls out, heading towards the coffee shop he’s thinking of and managing to find a place to park not too far away from it. When they stop, he pulls off his helmet and picks up his bag, deciding to carry them in and not leave them on the bike. 

“Just in case,” he says to Finn. “So they really acted like they didn’t know why you were in New York to begin with?” 

“Yeah, like I didn’t get three months of ‘go support your brother’ before I moved out here,” Finn says. 

“That’s bullshit. So how many more nights do you have? As if you weren’t helping with the bills,” Puck says as they walk into the coffee shop and up to the counter. 

“He told me a week, but he’s giving me the _look_ already,” Finn says, shaking his head sadly. “So I think it’s more like a whatchacallit. Businessweek.”

“Can we block his number on our phones once all your stuff is out?”

Finn shrugs, making a noncommittal ‘eh’ noise. “He’s not the first person to get stupid because of a relationship.”

“His brand is particularly bad, though,” Puck says, pausing to order before continuing. “And just because he’s only into dudes doesn’t mean the spirit of ‘bros before hos’ shouldn’t apply. Even if it’s crude and all of that. No other wording rhymes.” 

“I just wonder if he’s gonna want me to move back in when it doesn’t work… again,” Finn says. 

“That’s why I want to block his number. You know you can’t do that _again_ ,” Puck says as they sit down. “How late will we have to wait so you can sneak me in at least for tonight?” 

“They, uh.” Finn’s face turns bright read. “They go to bed pretty early. They probably won’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, God,” Puck says with a groan. “Okay. I can pull decent money busking here, but not enough for us to manage first and last.” 

“Is that a solo thing?” Finn asks. 

“Is what solo?” 

“The busking,” Finn says. “I bet two can busk better than one. My kit’s really small.”

“We’ll have to mainly do parks and larger intersections, but yeah, that’d work!” Puck says. “And if Kurt has any last-season hats or scarves that are wool, you should steal ‘em.” 

“And I probably need some gloves with actual fingers,” Finn says, holding up his fingerless-gloved hands. 

“If they’ll fit you, we can trade, ‘cause I have to have that kind to play,” Puck says. “That’ll save us a little.”

“They might be a little loose on you. My hands are kinda bigger.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I can manage for a few weeks at least,” Puck says. “You need to go anywhere else before we sneak back into the loft?” 

“Nah. Wouldn’t really have the money to spend even if I wanted to go somewhere else. Already paid my share of the bills for the month,” Finn says. 

“We can start tomorrow, see how much we get, and go from there.”

Their very first day of busking as a duo goes well, which Puck figured it would, but it ends up being even better than he’d hoped, and he tries to make sure no one passing by notices how much they’re tucking away as they pack up and then walk towards the nearest deli to grab a sandwich each and warm up. 

“If we get that corner table, we’ll count up here,” Puck says to Finn as they walk in. 

“You get the table. I’ll get the sandwiches,” Finn says. “Then we can figure out what we can actually afford.”

“Extra turkey,” Puck says over his shoulder as he heads towards the table.

“Duh,” Finn says. 

Puck is pretty sure he’s never had a day of busking that brought in even a third of what they have shoved in their inner coat pockets, which suggests that they could possibly make a little bit of a nest egg for first month’s rent, at least. He’s not sure they can sustain that level of income, but it’s promising. 

He grins as Finn approaches with their sandwiches, grabbing his as Finn sits down. Finn also shoves a bag of chips across the table to him before unwrapping his own sandwich.

“So, how did we do?” Finn asks. 

“Maybe we really _can_ get enough for first and last,” Puck says as he opens the chips. “Novelty of a duo’ll wear off, so I’m worried it’s not sustainable long-term, but it’s a really good start.” 

“Can we get a place?”

“I say we get a place and figure out how to keep it later,” Puck admits. “It’s worked for me before.” 

“Okay,” Finn says. “We’ll find a place tomorrow. I can sneak us back into Kurt’s for one more night. You can have the extra pillow tonight so you don’t have to hear them.”

“We could celebrate our excellent day and splurge on earplugs for both of us?” 

“Or we can buy an extra extra pillow.”

“That’d probably be more useful in the future,” Puck says. “Pillow it is.” 

After they grab another pillow, Finn sneaks them back into the loft and Puck puts down a few blankets next to the sofa. Finn’s been sleeping on the sofa the entire time he’s been in New York, which Puck also has thoughts about, but luckily it seems to be beside the point now. Despite the enthusiastic noise from Kurt and Blaine, Finn falls asleep before Puck, and after the loft is quiet, Finn clearly relaxes enough for his arm to flop off the edge. Puck jumps and rolls over, then quietly laughs at himself. 

“Maybe we can find a bigger mattress for you,” Puck says. “Or a bigger sofa at least, since it’s easier to find cheap sofas.” He shakes his head and puts his head back down, not far from Finn’s fingers. “We’ll find a decent place tomorrow. Or at least one with four walls, a clean floor, and a roof that doesn’t leak.” 

What they find instead is a place with four walls, a water-stained ceiling, and a floor with stains from God-knows-what. The roof isn’t actively leaking, though, and the price is right: cheap and requiring only first month’s rent, not first and last. They sign the lease, pay the first month’s rent, and move their limited possessions in. 

They get ten days of good income busking before it starts to fall off, and after a few more days of optimism, Finn starts picking up shifts again at the bodega where he’d been stocking nights. It means that sometimes Puck’s busking alone and sometimes with Finn, and by the time the next month’s rent is due, Puck can admit it’s a good thing Finn went back to the bodega. 

“It’s too bad you can’t clone yourself,” Puck says to Finn. “Even with numbers going down, we make a lot more busking together than either of us alone.” 

“We can sleep when we’re dead, right?” Finn asks. He does look tired, which makes sense, since he’s been sleeping about four hours a night. 

“Yeah, exactly,” Puck says, more optimistically than he feels. After the way Burt and Carole have acted towards Finn for years—really since they graduated from high school—making a go of it in New York seems like the only real option. “I hate to cut back on busking, though.” 

“Well, the bodega likes having me at night, ever since they got robbed a couple months ago. I could pick up more shifts at night and we can busk during the day,” Finn says. 

“Yeah, I was trying to think of something more profitable that would let you sleep in more, you know?” 

Finn shrugs. “I’m okay. I don’t really need much sleep. We’ve gotta eat, you know? Eating isn’t optional.”

“Sleep’s not supposed to be. It’s the wrong time of year for most stuff I do, though,” Puck says. “And it’s going to get too cold to busk much.” 

“Then I’ll sleep more when it’s cold.”

“That doesn’t work so well, though.” Puck frowns and goes back to poking at the budget spreadsheet, which doesn’t actually change any of the numbers. “Too bad we can’t busk inside.” 

“We’ll figure something out. I’ll pick up some more shifts until we do,” Finn says, in the don’t-argue-with-me tone.

“Hmph,” Puck says, wrinkling his nose and frowning at Finn. “Maybe you should go back to school or something. That covers room and board at least.” 

“I don’t know,” Finn says. “I think I’m happier not doing school right now.”

“Okay. Probably I’m not going to,” Puck says, then clicks to a different tab. Five or ten minutes pass before he looks up. “Finn. Busking inside!” 

“In a store or something?”

“In a _bar_ or something!” Puck says. “We could give ourselves a name and get paid!” 

“But we’re just a guy with a guitar and a bigger guy with small drums,” Finn says. 

“So that’s not a good name for us to go by. We have to sell it better.” 

“It’s just not much of a band,” Finn says. “If you were _just_ a guy with a guitar, you’d probably be able to get bar gigs. I think the drums sorta mess that up.”

“There are plenty of bands that started out as just two guys, though,” Puck says. 

“We can try, at least,” Finn says. 

“I’ll find us something for later this week,” Puck says optimistically. “Maybe opening for someone else.” 

“Cool. That’ll be fun, probably. Better than stocking shelves, at least, if it pays.”

“And you can sleep more, dummy,” Puck says, shaking his head. “Sleep’s as important as eating.” 

Finn makes a face, scrunching up his eyes. “Says you.”

“Says me,” Puck agrees. “Now to find us a venue.”


	2. Shithole Bar #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First gig. Mixed signals.

Three days of cold calling venues as well as more established bands finally pays off for Puck on Wednesday afternoon. On Saturday night, they have one of the opening sets at a place called Poe’s Mustard Bar. Puck isn’t sure that Poe’s Mustard Bar has a main act, but he and Finn don’t have a band name, a fact that the guy at Poe’s didn’t seem too bothered about. 

Puck goes by the shithole apartment and leaves his guitar there, then heads to the bodega to tell Finn. “We got a gig!” Puck says as soon as he finds the aisle Finn’s stocking in. 

“Sweet!” Finn says, waving his arms excitedly and almost knocking over the shelf of Takis he just stocked. “Where?”

“Poe’s Mustard Bar!” Puck says. 

“I have no idea where that is, but that’s awesome!” 

“Yeah, me either,” Puck admits. “I have the address, though. And we have to come up with a band name before Sunday night.” 

“Do you think they serve mustard?” Finn asks. 

“Probably they’re in an old warehouse that once sold a variety of goods including mustard,” Puck says, doing his best tour-guide imitation. 

“Oh, yeah, that probably makes sense,” Finn says. He puts the rest of the Doritos on the shelf next to the Takis. “How do we pick a band name?”

“Something we like? Or something we hear that sounds cool?” Puck says. “Maybe a phrase from a commercial or something.” 

“Grab my phone out of my pocket,” Finn says, turning the left side of his butt towards Puck. 

“Okay,” Puck says with a shrug, reaching in. “Is there a name idea on it?” 

“Just go to the news page or something. I figured there might be a good headline we can use!”

“Oh, okay.” Puck pulls Finn’s phone out and unlocks it. “News-news or sports news?” 

“Start with sports news,” Finn says. 

“‘Giants Control Their Own Playoff Destiny’,” Puck reads first. “I don’t like that.” 

“Yeah, we can’t be Playoff Destiny. That’s terrible.”

“We can’t be ‘Falcons Continue Slide’, either, I’m thinking?” 

Finn laughs. “Falcon Slide sounds like something from a superhero theme park.”

“Or a bad country line dance. ‘Victory for Lions at Lucas Oil’?” 

“Hmm,” Finn says, sitting down on the step stool that he doesn’t actually need for stocking. “Leave off the Lucas Oil part, obviously, but the rest sounds really cool.”

“Victory for Lions. Does that make us the lions in question?” Puck asks. 

“I hope so. I’d probably be okay with just ‘Dinner That Isn’t Ramen for Lions’, though,” Finn says. 

“I told you we can afford Chef Boyardee.” 

“It tastes weird!”

“And Campbell’s.” 

“You said getting the chicken and stars is dorky.”

“It is dorky, but we can still afford it. Just don’t bring a can to Poe’s Mustard Bar,” Puck says. 

Finn snorts. “Like I’d share my chicken and stars with people who would go to a place called Poe’s Mustard Bar.”

“Don’t say that too loud, they buy the drinks that pay us,” Puck says. He slides Finn’s phone back in his pocket. “See you at home?” 

“Yeah. Save me the last shrimp flavor ramen, okay?”

“I already said I would!” Puck says, sticking his tongue out at Finn and then heading out. He walks two blocks out of his way to go to a different bodega and buy Finn’s dorky chicken and stars, then leaves it on the counter next to the stove while he makes chicken flavor ramen for himself. He cracks an egg into it, then takes the whole thing in a bowl to sit on the sofa and open his laptop. If they’re going to be Victory for Lions, they probably need a set list. 

Puck grins to himself later when he hears Finn walking towards the door and pulling out his keys. He almost has a set list, too, or at least a possible one. 

“I’m home,” Finn announces – unnecessarily, since the apartment is under 500 square feet, which means Finn literally steps into Puck’s personal space as soon as he walks in. 

“I didn’t eat your shrimp ramen,” Puck says. “I bet you won’t either.” 

“I like the shrimp ramen because it sort of tastes like real shrimp.”

“I’m just saying, I bet you won’t eat it tonight.” 

“Why not? Did the rats get it?” Finn asks. “I hope not.”

“They’re overgrown mice, and no. Just go fix your dinner,” Puck says, shaking his head. 

Finn steps around Puck into the kitchenette corner of the apartment. “Hey! You got me the chicken and stars.”

“Told you,” Puck says smugly.

“Yeah, you told me,” Finn says, already putting their one pot on the stove. “We should make shirts.”

“T-shirts?” Puck asks. 

“Yeah. For Victory for Lions. They can have lions on them.”

“Real lions though, right? Not football-style lions?” Puck asks. “Or maybe cartoon lions.” 

“Cool lions,” Finn says. “Regal-looking ones.”

“Lions with sunglasses?” 

“Crowns.”

“Pipes?” 

“Crowns _and_ pipes.”

“Is that _too_ Brooklyn of us?” Puck asks. 

Finn shrugs. “I think it’s exactly enough Brooklyn of us.”

“Does it make us officially Brooklynites, you think?” 

“Maybe _after_ we play at the Mustard Bar,” Finn says. “Then we’ll be very Brooklyn.”

“I’ll stop shaving?” Puck says, stroking his chin and raising an eyebrow. “You think I could pull that off?” 

“Yeah, that’d be ho— cool. It’d be cool,” Finn says, immediately looking down at his pot of soup and not looking back up again. 

“I might look like I live in a different part of Brooklyn,” Puck says wryly. “You’ll have to warn me if I start looking more Hasidic than hipster.” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

Puck raises an eyebrow again, this time because Finn sounds almost cagey, then shrugs. “So what color for the t-shirts?” he asks instead. “And I think I have what could be a set list.” 

“Blue,” Finn says, still looking a little too intently at his soup. “And yeah? What songs?”

“Mostly late ‘80s and into the ‘90s, since that seems to be what gets us the most when we’re busking. We should probably work on some original stuff to work in with the covers, though.” 

“That didn’t go that great last time we tried it.”

“The last time we tried it? That was half a decade ago,” Puck says. “We could at least give a shot.” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Finn says. “Do you want some of this soup?”

“Chicken and stars is all yours, dude,” Puck says. “I had egg ‘n ramen.” 

“Cool.” Finn transfers his soup into a bowl and sits down on the sofa next to Puck. 

“We could write a song about cheap food,” Puck says. 

“Well, they say to write what you know, and we definitely know that,” Finn agrees. “Soup’s good, though. Thanks.”

“No problem. You got an idea about where to get t-shirts or should I start looking?” 

“There’s a place about two blocks down from the bodega that does shirts and hats.”

“We’re not doing hats, right?” Puck asks suspiciously. “You know I swore off baseball caps.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Finn says. “I didn’t say we were doing hats, just that they do hats.”

“Okay. Good.” Puck closes his laptop and walks to the refrigerator. “We can swap tonight,” he offers just like he does every night. He’s not sure why Finn insists on the sofa. There’s probably even room on the twin mattress for both of them if they squeezed. 

“Nah, I’m good on the sofa,” Finn says, like he does every time Puck offers to swap.

Puck shakes his head as he gets the juice he was looking for, then walks back to the sofa and sits down again. He ends up with his leg pressed against Finn’s, but he doesn’t mind as long as Finn doesn’t. There’s something almost surreal about their life, but Finn’s the opposite of that, solid and real, and Puck puts a little more pressure against Finn’s leg. 

“Did you want to sleep now?” Puck asks after a few moments of sitting silently. 

“Probably should,” Finn says. “At least until the band thing pans out, I’m gonna still be working long hours.”

“Okay,” Puck says, but he can’t make himself get up immediately. Finally, he puts his hand on Finn’s leg, then realizes that Finn’s already asleep sitting up. “I should move you,” Puck says quietly. Instead, he pulls the blanket Finn uses off the back of the sofa and covers both of them with it. He stretches over to turn out the lamp, then closes his own eyes. “Night.”

When Puck wakes up the next morning, his head is resting on Finn’s shoulder, but otherwise neither of them seems to have moved. Puck takes a few deep breaths, still strangely reluctant to get up off the sofa, then forces himself to move and replace the blanket around Finn. He makes sure it’s tucked in enough that Finn won’t get a breeze on his neck or shoulders, then gets his guitar and slips out of the apartment as quietly as he can. 

Busking is slow for the next two days, and mid-afternoon on the second day, Puck decides to call Jake and check in with him at college. Usually Jake answers if it’s afternoon, so Puck presses his name and then waits for Jake’s voice to answer. 

“Hey,” Jake says. “Didn’t expect to hear from you! What’s up?”

“Thought I’d check in. Busking’s a little slow as it gets colder,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, I bet. Got anything warmer lined up?”

“At least for Sunday night, yeah, we’ve got a gig at a bar. Hopefully it’ll turn into something regular and Finn can quit the bodega.” 

“Cool,” Jake says. “So the roommate thing’s working out?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Puck asks, feeling confused. 

“Because being friends with somebody doesn’t mean you can live together, especially in a small space,” Jake says.

Puck snorts. “It’s not like Finn and I are just normal friends or something.” 

“Well, yeah, you’re _best_ friends, but still, it’s not a lot of space, right?”

“It’s more than those stupid tiny houses on HGTV,” Puck says. “Probably not like most best friends either.” 

“Do they have places you can put those houses in Brooklyn?”

“No, it’s a different kind of hipsters. I stopped shaving two days ago. Finn’s going to warn me if it looks too ultra-Orthodox instead of Brooklyn-ish,” Puck says. “He said it’d look cool, though. And it’ll help keep me warm.” 

“Okay. That’s good, I guess?” Jake says. 

“Well, the apartment’s not got great insulation, and we can’t really afford to run the heat all the time. Or most of the time,” Puck admits. 

“Oh, so not good, then.”

“I mean, what else are we going to do?” Puck says. 

“Get a space heater or something?” Jake suggests. “What are you doing currently?”

“Running it a little when we’re home. Wear layers. The bodega’s warm for Finn, at least.” 

Jake makes a humming sound, like he’s thinking. “You could huddle for warmth like penguins.”

“Like they do when they have an egg? I don’t think we can sleep standing up,” Puck says. 

“I guess you could just share the bed or something.”

“Yeah, I keep offering to swap, ‘cause right now Finn insists on the sofa. The mattress is only twin size, but we probably could squeeze on it.” 

“It would probably be weird for a lot of guys, but you guys are…” Jake’s voice fades out, before he continues, kind of weakly, “how you are.”

“Huh?” Puck says. “What do you mean?” Jake might be right, but Puck still wants to know for sure what Jake means. 

“Closer than a lot of best friends,” Jake says. 

“I don’t think that’s a category people actually use. Like what?” 

“I don’t know. You’re close, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s what best friends do. Right?” 

“Puck, I can honestly say I’ve never had a best friend like the two of you are,” Jake says. “I don’t even know anybody else with best friends like that.”

“Huh. I guess I always figured it was like… how best friends were supposed to be. Drop everything and go help each other out.” 

“Move to another state. Live in an ass-cold apartment. Are you still living off nothing but those off-brand ramen?”

“I bought Finn chicken and stars the other night?” 

“You’re not doing anything to disprove what I said, you realize?” Jake says. 

“Well, so if we’re not best friends, what are we?” 

“I think that’s a question for you to answer, not me,” Jake says. “But, hey! A gig at a bar! Tell me more about that.”

“Huh,” Puck says again, then decides not to press Jake any further. Telling Jake about the Mustard Bar will probably take long enough, anyway. 

After Puck finishes talking to Jake, he purposely plays songs he knows well enough to perform in his sleep, so he can think over what Jake said. Maybe Jake’s right, that most best friends wouldn’t do the things they’ve done for each other, but Puck’s not thought of operating in any other way, not in years. And maybe Jake’s right about it being weird for some guys to share a bed, but it doesn’t sound weird to Puck. He’s not sure it would sound weird to Finn, and if he follows Jake’s logic, that’s different from other best friends, too. 

There’s really only one thing beyond best friends, though, and that thought makes Puck squirm a little as he packs up in the park. The streetlights are already on, and he stuffs one hand deep in his pocket as he walks towards the apartment. Maybe he should try observing the two of them and how they interact. Or maybe he should just mention sharing the mattress for warmth. 

He goes back and forth between the two ideas, and around the time that Finn should be leaving the bodega, Puck starts making ramen. That probably would be more evidence for Jake, but that makes Puck decide that the best course of action is asking Finn about sharing the mattress _and_ observing the two of them. 

Puck divides the ramen between their two bowls just as he hears Finn’s key in the door. “Ramen’s ready!” he calls as the door pushes open. 

“Awesome, thank you!” Finn says, rubbing his hands together as he enters the apartment. “Man, it’s really starting to get cold out there!”

“Yeah, about that,” Puck says. He walks to the sofa and sits down, waiting for Finn to sit before handing him his bowl. “I talked to Jake today and he had an idea for us.” 

“Oh yeah? Is he sending money to run the heat?” Finn asks, already shoveling noodles from the bowl into his mouth before he even has a firm grasp on the bowl.

“Not that great of an idea, sadly. But we could stay warmer at night if we were both on the mattress.” 

“I keep telling you, I’m seriously fine on the couch,” Finn insists. 

“I didn’t say that we’d swap. I said both on the mattress. Body heat and all of that,” Puck explains. 

“Oh,” Finn says. His spoon stops moving from the bowl to his mouth as he look at Puck from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn't that be, I dunno, a tight fit or something?”

“A, that’s kind of the idea, and B, I think we could manage it.”

“Just, I take up a _lot_ of room, is all.”

Puck shrugs. “Yeah, I know.” 

“I don't want to put you out,” Finn says.

“You didn’t ask,” Puck says, mentally noting that Finn’s not objecting on his own behalf. “I offered.” 

“It is getting kinda cold. And the blanket’s about two inches too short,” Finn says, giving Puck a sheepish-looking half smile. “Not complaining, ‘cause I’d rather share a place with you than anybody else in, like, the whole world.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Puck says, chewing on his lip for a moment as he thinks about what Jake said. “And that way we’ll have even more blankets on both of us.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Finn says. He bumps Puck’s leg with his, and the half-smile turns into a whole smile. “Thanks for worrying about me.”

“S’my thing, right?” Puck says. 

“Yeah, you're what my mom calls a ‘caretaker’,” Finn says. “Always looking after me, huh? Since forever.”

“I think that’s just a you-thing. Looking after you,” Puck admits, not looking directly at Finn. 

“You’d probably do it for any other roommate, too, but we wouldn't have a place to put them.”

“Maybe,” Puck says, because he’s starting to think that Jake’s onto something. He eats his ramen, now that it’s cooled, and takes both their bowls back to the sink. “Turn off the other lights and we’ll go ahead and see how we fit.” 

“Gonna put my sweats on first. It’s too cold to sleep in boxers,” Finn says, standing and rifling through the milk crate that serves as his dresser until he pulls out a pair of sweatpants that look like they’ve seen better days. He doesn't go into the bathroom to change, not that he ever does, just taking off his jeans and pulling on the sweats. Once he’s changed, he flips off the light.

“Yeah, I already did,” Puck says, then shuffles over to the mattress and lies down on his side, facing Finn. “Let’s puzzle this out.”

“Just so you know, I’m the big spoon,” Finn says, in a voice that sounds more like he’s trying to joke than like he’s actually joking.

“You’re the big spoon even if you’re the little spoon.” Puck pulls the blankets up over both of them. 

“I’m the big _everything_ ,” Finn says.

Puck is suddenly glad it’s pretty dark in the apartment, because he’s screwing up his face and trying not to laugh. “Probably you are,” he finally manages. “Comfortable?” 

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t hold yourself all tense. I know you are.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll accidentally steal your half,” Finn says, “and you’re gonna wind up on the floor or with me on top of you or something.”

“I’m not gonna wind up on the floor,” Puck promises. “I haven’t fallen out of bed or off a mattress in years.” 

“So… since the last time you let me share a bed with you, huh?”

“You’re the one that said that meant we were too huge,” Puck argues, bumping his head against Finn’s arm. “Relax.” 

“Too huge because I stole the whole bed. I was the too-huge one!” Finn say, though he does noticeably relax. “Just shove me off you if I roll in my sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I promise,” Puck says, flopping his head dramatically onto the pillow. “Night.” 

“Night, Puck.”

The next time Puck wakes up, it’s almost time for him to get up for the day, but Finn is in fact mostly draped over him. The part of Finn that’s not on top of Puck is pressing against Puck, including what Puck tells himself is probably just morning wood, not a deliberate reaction to Puck’s ass. 

Finn huffs in his sleep and nuzzles—probably inadvertently—the top of Puck’s head, shifting his hips and pressing his dick more firmly against the left side of Puck’s ass. Puck thinks about waking Finn up immediately, and he thinks about holding impossibly still, but it’s been longer than he wants to think about since he felt _wanted_. If he gets a small sleep-reaction out of Finn because he pushes his ass against Finn’s dick, he’ll feel good and nothing bad will happen. A minute or so passes while he thinks, and then he lifts his body just enough to really push against Finn’s dick. 

Finn responds with a muffled moan against Puck’s head, the arm draped over Puck’s chest pulling him closer. He shifts again, pressing against Puck’s ass for another few seconds before huffing again, tensing briefly, then slowly rolling away.

“Sorry,” Finn says in a sleepy voice. “Guess I’m a sleep-spooner when I’m cold.”

“Hmmm?” Puck says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been awake. “It was warmer, right? We should do this?”

“Yeah, it felt good. Warm, I mean,” Finn says.

“Cool,” Puck says. “I have to get going, but it should stay warmer in here for a little longer.” 

“Yeah, you’re like my personal electric blanket,” Finn says. “See you back here before we go to the mustard place?”

Puck grins. “Exactly. Maybe we should take a bottle of ketchup?” 

“Some soft pretzels. Maybe a ham sandwich.”

“German restaurant take-out,” Puck says as he changes. “Got it.” 

Whenever people stop to put money in his guitar case, Puck says that they should come catch the set that night at Poe’s Mustard Bar. Most people ignore him, but one or two say they might check it out. It’s something, anyway. Puck packs up a little early and heads back to the apartment where they both change—the lion shirts aren’t ready yet, so solid blue shirts for both of them—and then head over to Poe’s Mustard Bar. Everything about getting in and set up seems to be what Puck would assume is standard for gigs, and he and Finn warm up briefly before finding out they’ll be the third band on stage for the night. 

Their set list seems to be enjoyed by the people at Poe’s, which is good, but about halfway through the set, there’s a long instrumental bridge, and Puck looks over at Finn as they play. Finn’s got a grin on his face, concentrating as he plays, and Puck’s conversation with Jake crystallizes in his mind a little. 

_I love him_ , Puck thinks as he watches Finn, and he probably would have agreed with that statement a week ago, but not in the way he means it now. It makes sense, though, with everything Jake said and everything about the majority of Puck’s life. It feels like an ‘of course’, enough that he wonders in the back of his head for the rest of their set how he could have missed it. 

Once the set is over, he tries not to let on to Finn, which he hopes won’t be too hard. Nothing really changed, just his understanding of the situation. They stay at Poe’s long enough to have several drinks and then head home, arms around each other’s shoulders to help keep each other up. 

“I think we did awesome,” Puck says as they change for bed, only the lamp closest to the mattress on. He pulls on a clean pair of socks and flops onto the mattress. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, still smiling a little drunkenly, though he looks tired, too. “Think they’ll have us come back?”

“I’ll call tomorrow afternoon. At least we didn’t get a talk like the first guys that were on. Did you hear the guy? Told ‘em not to call or attempt to book there again under any band name.” 

“I think the mustards guys’ standards are pretty high, considering what a shithole that place is,” Finn says. 

Puck snorts, feeling like he might be talking a little fast or a little loud. “They probably think they’re going to magically raise their standards enough to get a better, higher-paying clientele. The important thing is, even at Poe’s rates, if we could get five gigs a week, we could make rent and food happen.” 

“And I could cut back on bodega hours.”

“Six gigs a week or five with better than Poe’s rates and you can _quit_ the bodega,” Puck says. 

“Not counting my bodega-quitting eggs before they hatch,” Finn says. “Or something like that.”

“I didn’t say to write a resignation letter just yet,” Puck says, grinning up at Finn. “Giving you a little hope’s all.” 

“I think my mom used to have a saying about hope.”

“I think I wouldn’t trust anything your mom says, to be honest,” Puck says. “Let’s go to sleep and glory in our tiny success.” 

Finn laughs – really more like a tipsy-sounding giggle. “Maybe we could buy another blanket!” 

“I don’t keep you warm enough?” Puck asks, putting his hand to his chest and pretending to be offended. 

“I didn’t say we _had_ to buy another one.”

“I’ll put it on your Christmas list,” Puck promises. “Any requests for how we should lie, after a night under our belts?”

“Uh…” Finn doesn’t look directly at Puck. “No, nothing specific. You?”

Puck shakes his head. “Nah. Want to turn out the lamp?” He can worry less about his face giving something of his revelation away if the light’s out, especially since he can tell he’s probably still on the drunk side of tipsy. 

“Sure,” Finn says, turning off the lamp.

“Cool.” Puck tells himself not to move closer as Finn lies down and settles, but he ends up doing it anyway, mostly under the guise of moving from his back to his side. “Would you _want_ to just do gigs?” 

“Play music instead of stock shelves? Uh, _duh_.”

Puck laughs. “Making sure!” 

“It would be pretty cool,” Finn says, rolling a little until he’s on his side facing Puck. 

“Income’ll top off unless we start writing our own stuff, too, but it’d be a good life, right?” 

“Sounds good to me, at least.”

“Good.” Puck half-closes his eyes, barely able to make out Finn’s shadowy form. “We’d definitely have to get blackout curtains.” 

“We could sleep late every day,” Finn murmurs. “That would be so nice.”

“Yeah,” Puck says, lifting his hand a little before stopping himself. “Good night.” 

“Night, Puck.”

Puck waits until he can tell Finn’s asleep, then lifts his hand the rest of the way, pushing Finn’s hair off his face before fully closing his eyes. 

He wakes up what feels like less than an hour later, Finn draped over him and pressed against him again. Puck still feels buzzed as he pushes back against Finn’s dick. Finn does the same sleep-moaning thing from that morning. Puck smiles to himself and pushes back again. Moaning again, Finn tightens the arm draped across Puck’s chest, holding him closer. 

Puck takes a careful breath and puts his hand on Finn’s arm, clasping it as he rocks his ass back. This time, instead of a moan, Finn lets out a low whimper that sounds an awful lot like “Puck.”

“Yeah,” Puck whispers, moving his ass again. 

“What?” Finn says softly, still pressing against him. “Puck?”

“It’s good,” Puck says, still whispering, and he tightens his hand on Finn’s arm. 

“What— what are we—”

“I don’t know,” Puck admits. “But this is fine. You can do this.” 

“Fuck, fuck this feels good,” Finn says, his voice still low and his mouth close to Puck’s ear, his breath still smelling faintly like the three Long Island Iced Teas he drank. 

“Yeah,” Puck says, smiling a little and pressing back against Finn. “Yeah, it does.” 

“This isn’t— we shouldn’t do this,” Finn says, though he doesn’t stop moving, and the arm around Puck’s chest starts to move slightly downward.

Puck pauses for a beat. “Why not?” he asks. “No one’s going to get mad.” 

“We aren’t— You’re my best friend, this’ll fuck it up, this’ll fuck all of that up.”

“We’re good,” Puck says. 

“We’re good?” Finn asks. “It’s okay?”

Puck nods. “Yeah. It’s okay, Finn.” 

Finn’s arm slides lower, then he moves his hand until it’s resting over Puck’s dick. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Puck says, feeling a little breathless. “It’s good.” 

Finn’s hand cups Puck’s dick through his sweatpants, moving a little as Finn continues to press himself against Puck. “This is good?”

“God. Yeah,” Puck says, rocking between Finn’s hand and Finn’s dick. Finn starts stroking him more intentionally, wrapping his hand around Puck’s dick through the sweatpants, breathing heavily and occasionally moaning into Puck’s ear. Puck almost shivers with Finn’s breath on his neck, and it’s a little cheesy, maybe because of how much he drank, but he wants Finn to feel good. “Do what you like.” 

“Okay,” Finn whispers. His lips lightly graze Puck’s neck. Puck lets his head fall forward a little, still rocking his hips. Finn’s hand moves faster and, Puck thinks, more confidently. 

“Feels good,” Puck says softly. 

“Yeah, yeah, it does, fuck, it’s good,” Finn breathes against Puck’s neck, his lips occasionally pressing against Puck’s skin. Puck exhales a little more loudly than he means to, feeling like he’s rubbing against Finn in every direction. 

“Close?” Puck asks. 

“Dunno. Maybe? You?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Puck says, feeling a little like he can’t get enough of himself against Finn. 

“You don’t have to yet, you can just keep—” Finn breaks off, moaning into Puck’s neck and stroking him faster, bordering on frantically. “Fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Oh God,” Puck whispers, realizing suddenly that out of everything he’s done with Finn, this is brand new. “Yeah.” 

“Maybe you should, okay? You should, ‘cause I’m gonna, and you should, okay?” Finn says. He bucks his hips against Puck, making little noises and never slowing the movement of his hand. 

“Yeah, okay. I will. Go on,” Puck says. “You should.” 

“Yeah, I am, I am,” Finn says, breathing heavily. “Oh fuck.”

Puck rocks back, pushing as firmly as he can against Finn’s dick. Finn’s hips snap forward, and Puck stops moving, letting himself feel how hard Finn is against his ass. Finn’s panting breaths against Puck’s neck get faster, then he moans softly, and Puck thinks he can almost sense more than feel as Finn comes. A moment later, he can feel it too, and he pushes into Finn’s hand with a low whine. It takes Puck less time than he expects before he’s coming, sweatpants still on. 

“See?” Puck says after a moment. “It’s _good_.” 

“Yeah,” Finn whispers. “Good.”

Puck thinks about getting up and cleaning himself off, but the bed and Finn are warm, and he still feels buzzed, so he decides not to. “Night, Finn.” 

“Night, Puck.”

Puck wakes up to a sun-filled apartment, Finn still asleep, and he slides off the mattress as quietly as he can without waking Finn. He goes into the bathroom for once to change, since he needs to clean up, and when he comes back into the main room, Finn is sitting up on the mattress, his back to Puck. 

“Morning,” Puck says. 

“Hey!” Finn says, in an overly-chipper voice, not really turning to look at Puck. “So, where are we busking today?”

“Uh.” Puck throws his sweatpants in the laundry basket and tosses his t-shirt from the night before on top of his crate of clothes. “Probably the corner near the subway.” 

“Cool. We’ll get a few hours in before I have to go to the bodega,” Finn says, standing and walking towards his own milk crate for clothes, still not really looking in Puck’s direction.

“Yeah.” Puck stands in place for a few more seconds, then walks to the cupboards to get Pop-Tarts out. “I guess so. I’ll call Poe’s and those other places I got numbers for this afternoon.” 

“Cool, yeah.”

Puck hands Finn a pack of Pop-Tarts and waits until they’re heading to the street to say anything else. “We need to talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?” Finn asks, in that same too-chipper voice. 

“Oo-kay,” Puck says, mostly under his breath as he opens his Pop-Tarts. “At least it’s sunny today.”


	3. Shithole Bar #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maximum Long Island Iced Tea levels achieved.

Puck doesn’t mention the night before to Finn for the rest of the day. After Finn heads to the bodega, Puck calls Poe’s and two other venues while he relocates to the park for solo busking. Poe’s offers another Sunday night slot with a teasing hint that there could be a weeknight gig after that—if Sunday night goes well—but the rate isn’t any higher, which is disappointing. One of the other venues turns him down, which makes Puck feel like the entire day is something of a disappointment. 

Finn must have been more drunk that Puck realized. Either he doesn’t really remember anything enough to talk about it, he feels like Puck took advantage of him, or he’s just not willing and able to discuss the fact that the two of them got each other off. Puck’s almost sure he didn’t take advantage of Finn, since mostly Puck had just moved in response to Finn’s actions. He wants to talk about it with Finn to make sure Finn knows it’s fine, but since they aren’t discussing it at all, he can’t. 

Still feeling like the day is definitely a Monday, Puck calls the last venue, Don Pedro. He’s on hold for what feels like hours, but eventually they have a relatively early slot on Thursday night. “Well, that’s something,” he tells himself as he ends the call and finally starts busking again. Maybe he can buy Finn a couple of beers after the gig and get him to talk, too. 

Puck can be a little petulant at times, and he knows that, which is why he waits until Tuesday morning, when he wakes up with Finn half on top of him again, to tell Finn about the new gig. 

“Hey, wake up,” Puck says as he gets dressed.

“Hey,” Finn says, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

“Forgot to tell you,” Puck says, even though probably they both know it’s a lie, “I got us a slot at Don Pedro on Thursday night.” 

“Oh. Sweet.”

“Poe’s again Sunday night, too.” 

“Hey, that’s great!” Finn says. “Good for us.”

“Yeah, there’s a possibility of a weekday thing, but the rate isn’t going to be any better,” Puck says. 

“It’s better than busking in the cold,” Finn says. 

“Well, yeah,” Puck says. “We should take Friday morning off busking and try to figure out one or two original things.” 

“Yeah, okay. We can do that. This is gonna be great!”

“Yeah.” Puck almost asks if they can talk about it _now_ , but he doesn’t, instead opening the cupboard like he does every morning. “Pop-Tart or cereal bar?” 

“Pop-Tart.”

“Got it.” Puck pulls out a pack for Finn and two cereal bars for himself. “You got time for busking today or is the bodega calling early?” 

“I could probably do an hour or two,” Finn says. 

“Cool,” Puck says, opening one of the cereal bars. “Subway corner?” 

“Sure,” Finn says. “We could practice our setlist for Thursday.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Puck tells himself that it’s not awkward or stilted or anything, and it’s not, really. As long as he doesn’t talk about Sunday night or think too much about it, it won’t be weird at all, and their run-through of the setlist for Thursday night goes really well. The rest of Tuesday goes well, too, and on his way home, Puck decides to pick up another can of chicken and stars for Finn. 

When Finn gets home, Puck doesn’t say anything, just points towards the counter. Finn says “Thanks!” as he starts heating up his soup. 

“I’m going to start ordering it from Amazon Pantry,” Puck says. “As soon as we book a regular gig or two.” 

“Cool. Thanks!”

Puck shrugs a little. He doesn’t think Carole’s completely right that he’s a caretaker, but he probably is a little bit when it comes to Finn. The way Puck sees it, Finn probably needs him to take care of things, and Puck’s the best possible person for the job. “Maybe more Pop-Tarts that way, too.” 

“Yeah, buying in bulk’s good when you can do it,” Finn says. 

“Yeah.” Puck sighs and closes his laptop. “I’m going to shower and then lie down while you eat.” 

“Tired?”

“Yeah, the park got windy today,” Puck says, because that’s true and easier to explain than that he’s hoping to fall asleep before Finn lies down. It feels like it’ll be less awkward. When he comes out of the bathroom after a very quick but warm shower, Finn’s still eating. “Busking tomorrow?” Puck asks as he yawns and lies down. 

“Gotta go in early,” Finn says. “Figured I’d work a few extra hours, offset the busking time we’re losing for the cold.”

Puck nods. “I’ll try to make sure I don’t wake you up, then.” He puts his head down on the pillow and closes his eyes. “Night.” 

“Night, Puck.”

Finn is, unsurprisingly, draped over Puck when he wakes up Wednesday morning, and Puck realizes he’s gotten pretty good at sliding out from under Finn without waking Finn up. He hopes Finn doesn’t quite realize how good he is, because there might be another morning that Puck wants to stay there and get a reaction. 

Wednesday night and Thursday morning don’t feel awkward at all, except for a few brief moments when Puck thinks about whether or not it’s awkward. Puck tosses Finn a pack of Pop-Tarts before picking up his guitar. 

“Meet here before we go to Don Pedro,” Puck says. 

“Okay. I’ll check on our shirts today, too!” Finn says. 

Puck nods. “Cool. See you this afternoon.” 

Busking is even colder than usual, even though Puck’s phone tells him it’s actually warmer than the day before. By the time he heads towards the apartment, he’s trying to figure out if they can splurge on a taxi to Don Pedro and still afford all the drinks he’s planning to buy for both of them after their set. 

For once, he’s not home first. “Do we have shirts?” Puck asks. 

“We do!” Finn says, lifting up the small stack of shirts sitting next to him on the sofa. “One for each of us and a couple we can sell, I guess.”

“Awesome,” Puck says, pulling off his coat and then the t-shirt he’s been wearing all day. “Toss me one.” A shirt flies the short distance from Finn to Puck.

“Does it fit?” Finn asks. 

Puck pulls it on and nods. “Yeah. It fits.” He picks his coat back up and puts it back on. 

“How cold is it?”

“Colder than yesterday,” Puck says. “No matter what the weather app says.” 

“Crap. I was hoping it would warm up a little,” Finn says. “I guess it’s just gonna get colder from here on out.”

“Pretty much,” Puck says with a nod, knowing he’s making a face. 

“We should get hats.”

“We said we _weren’t_ doing hats.” 

“Not that kind of hat,” Finn says. “Winter hats, for the cold.”

“Neither one of us knows how to knit,” Puck says. “I don’t know how fast we can find someone to knit hats for us.” 

“Maybe Kurt knows. I’ll call him tomorrow and ask.”

“Nevermind. I’ll go shopping,” Puck says. 

“What?” Finn says. “He owes me a hat, at least.”

“Or he’ll have already broken up with Blaine again and try to get you to move back in.” 

“And I’ll tell him no. C’mon, you don’t think I’d move back in with him!”

“I just think he shouldn’t even get the opportunity to ask,” Puck says. “Ready?” 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Finn says. 

Don Pedro is more organized than Poe’s, which is nice, and they’ll actually need their entire set list before getting hustled off the stage. Puck doesn’t have any mid-performance revelations, but as soon as they’re done, Puck steers Finn with him towards the bar. 

“Long Islands again?” Puck asks. 

“Sure,” Finn says. 

“Two Long Island Iced Teas, and keep ‘em coming,” Puck says to the bartender, then turns back to Finn. “That was awesome.” 

“I think it went way better than last time!” Finn says. 

“T-shirt magic,” Puck says. 

“Totally.”

Puck nods for the bartender to bring two more as soon as they get low, then raises his Long Island. “To Victory for Lions?” 

“Victory for Lions!” Finn says, clinking his glass to Puck’s. 

“We’re getting there!” Puck says before taking a long drink. Finn pretty much chugs his first two Long Islands, which mean Puck abandons the idea of keeping up and decides to just try to stay almost as drunk. The more Finn drinks, the more Puck notices him getting handsier, and after Puck officially loses track of how many drinks they’ve had, he pulls on Finn’s sleeve. 

“Huh?” Finn says. 

“I have to pee,” Puck says. “Come with me.” 

“Okay,” Finn says, following along behind Puck. Puck pulls Finn with him into the single stall bathroom, then pees and washes his hands while Finn leans on the door. 

“All done,” Puck says, feeling himself sway a little.

“Cool,” Finn says, reaching for Puck with both hands. Faster than seems possible, Finn has Puck by the front of his shirt, spinning him so he’s against the door. Finn presses himself against Puck, pinning him there, and puts his face to the side of Puck’s neck. 

“Oh, hey,” Puck says, putting his hands on Finn’s shoulders. 

“Mmhmm hey,” Finn says against Puck’s neck, starting to kiss it, beginning high, near Puck’s ear, and working his way down to Puck’s shirt collar, which he pulls aside enough to kiss just a little farther down. 

Puck shifts his weight a little and pushes one leg between Finn’s. “I’m guessing we’re still not, you know. Talking about it,” Puck guesses as he tilts his head too. 

“Mmhmm,” Finn repeats, pressing harder against Puck and still kissing his neck. 

“Okay, well, this is good too,” Puck says, and he lifts his leg a little, just enough to confirm that Finn’s hard. 

“Yeah,” Finn says, now alternating between kissing and sucking on Puck’s neck. 

“You like my neck, huh?” Puck asks, and he knows he’s a little loud, but the door’s locked and that’s all that seems important. 

“Mmhmm.” Finn lightly nips Puck’s neck, possibly to further confirm he likes it. Puck laughs a little and raises his leg up again, pushing against Finn’s dick. 

“You’re gonna leave me a bruise,” he sing-songs. 

“Hmm?” Finn asks, lifting his head. “Bruise?”

“If you keep doing that to my neck.” 

“Mmm,” Finn says, lowering his head again, mouth to Puck’s neck.

Puck laughs again and slides his leg down. “Okay!” 

“Yeah, ‘kay,” Finn agrees, grabbing one of Puck’s hips and pulling him closer, grinding against him. 

“We should get drunk, like, a _lot_ ,” Puck says, putting one foot on the door for leverage. 

Finn nods his agreement, sucking on the spot where Puck’s neck and shoulder meet. Puck leans his head back on the door and presses his leg against Finn as hard as he can. 

“And you should do that all the time.” 

“Yeah, good,” Finn says, grinding against Puck a little more. 

“Not _just_ that,” Puck says, letting Finn grind for a few more seconds before using one hand to pull Finn’s head up enough that Puck can kiss him. The kiss is much less forceful than the grinding, slow and light at first. Finn slides a hand behind Puck’s head, cupping the back of it. Puck keeps the same foot on the door, still leaving his leg in place for Finn to grind on, and he opens his lips wider. 

Finn kisses more enthusiastically. The hand holding Puck’s hip shifts around to grab his ass. Puck can feel himself making some kind of whimpering or whining noise, and even though he said they should be drunk more, part of him wishes they weren’t drunk. He pushes up against Finn, still kissing him. Finn squeezes Puck’s ass a few times before running his hand down the back of Puck’s thigh, sort of lifting his leg as he goes. 

“Hmmm?” Puck says into Finn’s mouth. Finn whines and tugs up on Puck’s leg again. Puck pulls away a little and frowns. “What?” 

Finn pulls up on Puck’s leg again, lifting it up to Finn’s waist. Puck tightens his grip on Finn’s shoulders and squeezes Finn’s waist with his leg. Finn twists and shifts, maneuvering Puck’s other leg, the one between his, up and around his waist, too, until both legs are wrapped around Finn, with Puck pinned between him and the door. 

Puck laughs. “Don’t drop me.” 

Finn shakes his head, then leans in close, his mouth to Puck’s neck for a few seconds before whispering in his ear, “Wanna fuck you against the wall like this.”

Puck thinks it’s possible he passes out for a few seconds before he comes to and responds, nodding his head. “Yeah. Yeah, you should.” 

“Too much pants,” Finn says, either as an explanation or a complaint. He grinds against Puck, pushing him into the door. 

“I know.” Puck frowns, then brightens a little. “You could make me come in them.” 

“Yeah, I’m gonna,” Finn says. He kisses Puck again, hard and deep this time. 

“Shit. Yeah,” Puck says, knowing this time it’s a loud whine he’s making. 

“Mmhmm. Good,” Finn says against Puck’s mouth. “You should.”

“What about you?” 

“Huh?”

“You gonna come too?” 

“But we’re talkin’ about you,” Finn insists. “You. You should.”

“Then you!” 

“ _You_ ,” Finn says, grinding more insistently against Puck and returning his mouth to Puck’s neck. 

“Mmm, yeah, me and my neck,” Puck says, grinding against Finn. 

“‘S a good neck,” Finn murmurs into said neck, then nips it again. “So good.”

Puck laughs again, high enough that his brain says maybe it’s more like a drunk giggle, and he leans his head against the door as Finn keeps his mouth on Puck’s neck and Puck moves against him. He’s so hard it almost hurts, but he doesn’t want to come for a few more seconds at least. 

“So awesome,” Finn says into Puck’s neck. “You’ve gotta come now, Puck, okay?”

“Mmmkay,” Puck says, drawing it out as he grinds up against Finn just enough to start coming. He can feel most of his body relaxing, and he makes his legs stay tightly wrapped around Finn. 

“Good?” Finn asks. 

“Mmmhmm,” Puck says, leaning his head on Finn’s shoulder. “You?” 

“I wanna,” Finn says, and Puck realizes suddenly just how slurred Finn’s speech is. 

“Wanna come or wanna go home first?”

“Dunno.”

“Let me down and I’ll take you home, you drunk,” Puck says jokingly. 

“‘M not drunk. I drank as much as you.”

“You drank _more_ than me,” Puck says, carefully lowering his legs and unlocking the door. “I gotta settle up with the bartender man.” 

“Oh. ‘Kay,” Finn says, looking distraught. 

“C’mon.” Puck steers them back to the bar, where the tab is way more than he wants to admit to himself, much less tell Finn in the morning, and then he grabs his guitar as they walk slowly and drunkenly home. By the time they get there, Puck realizes there’s no way he’s going to be able to get Finn to come, and instead he gently lowers Finn onto the bed and changes his t-shirt out for a long-sleeved shirt before pulling the blankets over him. 

It takes Puck a little longer to get ready for bed, since he has to clean himself off, but he turns off the light and pulls the curtains as close together as they get before dropping into bed beside Finn. 

“G’night, Finn,” Puck says, still feeling buzzed at a minimum. After Finn doesn’t answer for a while, Puck closes his eyes. “Night,” he says again, then feels himself drifting off. 

The next thing Puck hears is Finn in the bathroom, and he blinks at the bathroom light before registering that Finn’s probably losing all of the Long Island Iced Teas. Puck sleepily climbs off the mattress and gets a glass of water, taking it to the bathroom. 

“Here,” he says quietly. 

“Sorry,” Finn croaks at him. “Sorry.”

“It’s no problem,” Puck says. “You brush your teeth yet?” 

“Uh-uh.”

“Okay.” Puck pats his back gently. “It’s okay.” 

“Sorry,” Finn says again. 

“Hey, they were good at the time,” Puck says. “I get it.” 

Finn mumbles something indecipherable in response and rests his head on the toilet seat. Puck pats his back again and balances the glass of water on the sink. Finn mumbles again, probably “Thanks,” closing his eyes. 

“It’s good. We’re good,” Puck says. 

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll be right out here,” Puck says, stepping out of the bathroom and leaning against the back of the sofa. After a few minutes, he hears Finn getting sick again, followed by little sobs. 

Puck waits for half a minute, then says “Brush your teeth now, okay?” 

Finn sobs again a few more time, then finally answers, “Okay.”

“You have to stand up to brush your teeth.” 

“I don’t wanna.”

“I know, but you have to,” Puck says gently. 

“I caaaaaaaan’t.”

“I can’t bend over to help you up, though,” Puck says. “My head would be really mad.” 

“Just leave me here to die,” Finn moans. “I wanna die.”

“It’s only your liver,” Puck says. “You can do it.” 

“I don’t think I have a liver.”

“C’mon, you can do it.” 

“Okay,” Finn says in a tiny voice. Puck hear him slowly moving in the bathroom, then the sounds of water running and half-hearted teeth-brushing. “Okay,” Finn repeats. “I brushed.”

“Ready to go back to bed?” Puck asks. 

“Uh-huh.”

Puck walks the three steps back to the bathroom and slides his arm around Finn’s shoulders. “C’mon.” 

“Thank you,” Finn says, letting Puck direct him to the bed. “Sorry I drank too much.”

“It’s only too much if you dislike this part enough to not be worth the trade off,” Puck says philosophically, because his splitting headache is still worth earlier. 

“I don’t feel so good.”

“I know,” Puck says, helping Finn lower himself to the mattress. “Just sleep it off.” 

“Don’t go, okay?” Finn asks in a pitiful voice. 

“I’m just going to lie down, too.” 

“You can be the big spoon if you want.”

“I don’t think I really can be,” Puck says, resisting the urge to laugh. 

“You can try if you really believe in yourself,” Finn says. “I believe in you.”

“Okay, let’s just go back to sleep,” Puck says, patting Finn’s shoulder and easing him down. 

“‘Kay,” Finn says, rolling onto his side away from Puck. 

“Oh, you’re hungover and pitiful, but you can make sure you’re the little spoon, huh?” 

“Uh-huh.”

Puck starts to shakes his head and winces, then moves closer to Finn and puts one arm over him. “Okay?” 

“Mmhmm.”

“Sleep,” Puck says. Finn doesn’t respond at all, so Puck closes his eyes, hoping Finn can make it until the morning without waking up again. 

When he wakes up again, Finn is still asleep, so Puck gets himself some ibuprofen and water and then shakes out more to take over to Finn. 

“Medicine,” Puck says softly. 

“Yeah, okay,” Finn says, sitting up slowly and grimacing. Puck puts the ibuprofen in Finn’s hand and holds out the water glass. Finn takes the pills, then the water, then hands back the empty glass. “Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?” 

“Terrible.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Puck says. “No busking today.” 

“If we need the money, I can do it,” Finn says. “It’d suck, but I could.”

“ _I’m_ not going to busk with this headache.” 

Finn slowly nods his agreement. “How much did we make?”

“Uhh… well, we didn’t bring as much _home_ as we made. At least we didn’t go for even pricier drinks?” 

“How much _did_ we drink?” Finn asks. 

“Uh… a lot.” 

“We didn’t do anything dumb, did we?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it dumb?” Puck says with a little shrug. 

“Oh. That’s good, then,” Finn says. “Can we go back to sleep?”

“Yeah, but you’re the big spoon this time.”


	4. Craigslist Bassist (and Dominic)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two guys isn't a band (or a relationship).

Puck waits until there’s only an hour before Finn has to be at the bodega before he wakes Finn up, Pop-Tarts at the ready. “Finn. Time to get up,” Puck says as he kneels beside the mattress, opening the pack of Pop-Tarts near Finn’s ear. 

“Yeah, okay,” Finn mumbles. 

“I let you sleep as long as I could,” Puck says. “The bodega is calling and all of that.” 

“I know. Thanks,” Finn says, sitting up and making a grumpy face. “We can’t drink like that next time, okay?”

“Yeah, it was kind of bad for our profit margin,” Puck agrees. 

“And our heads.”

“That too,” Puck says. “Pop-Tart?” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Finn says, taking the pack of Pop-Tarts.

“I’ll call Don Pedro and see about getting another gig next week, though,” Puck says. “Wasn’t a bad little venue.” 

“Yeah, everything was pretty good there,” Finn agrees. 

“Yeah, yeah it was,” Puck says, not sure if Finn is talking around the bathroom or hasn’t yet remembered it. 

“And it didn’t pay terribly, if we didn’t drink it all.”

Puck shrugs. “Sometimes it’s probably good to let loose a little.” 

“But at what price, Puck?” Finn says, gesturing his own head, probably to indicate his headache or hangover in general.

“Eh, your head’ll feel better later.” 

“But not before I’m at the bodega, having to stock stuff with Fernando’s grupera music cranked up way too loud.”

“I’ll get more ibuprofen out,” Puck says, standing up. 

“Thanks,” Finn says. “See? Caretaker, just like Mom said.”

“Hmm,” Puck says as he picks up the bottle of ibuprofen. Finn might be right, but that doesn’t mean Puck has to have forgiven Carole just yet for a lot of things she’s said to Finn. “Full shift tonight, right?” 

“Yeah. I’ll probably be working a lot of those, unless we can get more gigs,” Finn says.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Puck says. It makes sense, since they don’t have a lot of gigs lined up and it’s just going to keep getting colder as they get into December and then the New Year, but since Finn hadn’t mentioned it before, Puck has to wonder if Finn does remember the night before and it’s somehow related to that. It probably is, Puck decides quickly, because Finn doesn’t even bring anything up unless they’re both drunk. 

“So I probably won’t see a lot of you until Sunday,” Finn says. 

Puck winces as he opens the refrigerator. Yeah, that’s definitely what it is. “Yeah, okay,” he says. 

Finn pulls on some clean clothes and brushes his teeth, then heads out to the bodega. Puck finishes his own Pop-Tarts and then decides to go ahead and call Don Pedro about a second gig. 

The news from Don Pedro is about as great as the rest of his Friday. The guy in charge of booking says that while they thought Finn and Puck entertained the clientele well enough, two guys calling themselves a band isn’t really the kind of band they look for. Three or four members is apparently the Don Pedro ideal, and Puck wonders if that’s part of why he can’t seem to book many other gigs for them, even with the Victory for Lions name for them. 

Puck stares at his laptop for ten or fifteen minutes before deciding that the only thing to do, aside from folding up and running back to Ohio, which isn’t really an option, is to post an ad online for a bassist. He limits the listing to Brooklyn, because waiting on someone to arrive from the Bronx or Staten Island sounds like a waste of everyone’s time, especially when they get more gigs. The ad makes them sound more exciting than they probably are, musically speaking, but Puck figures once they get a bassist, then they can figure out what to do with them. 

Ad posted, Puck considers busking for just an hour or two near the subway station, and he lasts for about thirty minutes before deciding he’s just too cold and distracted to make it work. He counts up the nickels and dimes and decides it’s enough to justify spending his change on a cup of coffee in a warm place, so he finds the closest place and sits down. 

He doesn’t really know what to think or do about Finn. Finn _knows_ Puck’s pan, and it hasn’t been an issue, so at least he can take that off the table. Only fooling around when Finn’s drunk, though, isn’t really the best pattern to get into, either for their friendship or whatever else there could eventually be. 

The worst part is, the only people who could offer any advice to him who aren’t related to him or completely clueless are Kurt and Blaine, which leaves Puck contemplating calling Kurt for about three minutes. Then he shakes his head and decides that, all things considered, Blaine’s probably a far better bet, if for no other reason that Puck knows Blaine understands some people really are bi or pan. 

Puck pulls out his phone, because he might as well go ahead and all, then realizes he doesn’t have Blaine’s phone number. “Guess I’ll call Kurt’s phone,” Puck mutters to himself, then presses Kurt’s number and listens to it ring. 

“Hello?” Kurt answers.

“May I please speak to Blaine?” Puck says in his best snooty professional voice. 

“Puck?”

“No?” 

“Puck, I know this is you,” Kurt says. “I recognize your voice.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Puck says in his same snooty voice. 

“Why do you want to talk to Blaine?”

“Because he’s not related to Finn.” 

“Ah. Roommate trouble?” Kurt asks. 

“Not exactly,” Puck says. 

“Because, if you’ll remember, we _did_ live together for almost two years,” Kurt says. “I might have some helpful pointers on sharing living quarters with Finn Hudson.”

“Pretty sure you don’t in this particular case,” Puck says. “Is Blaine not around?” 

“I just wanted to see if I could help first.”

“Trust me, you really can’t, and you probably don’t want to.” 

“Finn’s not in any trouble, is he?” Kurt asks. “I could help with that, too.”

“He’s fine. He’s at work,” Puck says. 

“Has he started seeing someone you don’t like? That can make things awkward.”

“This is awkward,” Puck says. “Seriously.” 

Kurt huffs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll get Blaine for you, since apparently he holds Finn-related knowledge I somehow do not possess.”

Puck rolls his eyes while he waits for phone transfer to be complete. 

“Hi, Puck,” Blaine says. “Kurt says you have a Finn problem.”

“Also a pansexual problem, if you get my meaning,” Puck says. 

“Oh,” Blaine says, then in an overly-understanding voice, “Ohhhh. Okay. You have a pansexual problem with Finn.”

“Yeah. The kind where as long as Finn’s been drinking, stuff’s happening,” Puck explains. 

“Wow! So you guys have been,” Blaine lowers his voice, “ _involved_?”

“Yeah, but then once we’re sober, it’s like nothing happened, you know? And this time he was all talking about picking up longer bodega hours and not seeing me much,” Puck says. 

“Oh no! So he’s weird about it.”

“Weirdly silent, yeah. And it’s not like he doesn’t know I’m pan.” 

“Have you tried talking to him about it? Directly, I mean.”

“Finn’s surprisingly wily when he doesn’t want to discuss something. I guess there’s nothing _wrong_ with only fooling around while we’re drinking, but even that you’d think we should talk about,” Puck says. 

“You should try pinning him down,” Blaine says. 

“I’m not really strong enough to do that. More the other way around,” Puck says. 

“I mean _verbally_! Make him talk to you. Ask him direct questions and don’t let it go until he answers them.”

“What if he just walks out of the apartment and goes to work?” 

“Follow him!” Blaine says passionately.

Puck hears Kurt in the background. “Don’t follow him! Blaine, don’t tell him that!”

“I should’ve called Quinn,” Puck mutters under his breath. “Maybe I’ll just stand in front of the door.” 

“You obviously have to force the issue, if it’s important to you,” Blaine says. “If it’s not, then you may as well just not bring it up at all.”

“Yeah, thanks for that insight,” Puck says sarcastically. 

“How do you feel about him? Do you want it to be something more seriously?”

“I live in a tiny apartment with no heat. What do you think?” 

“Then your only real option is to bring it up directly and not let him evade,” Blaine says. “It would really great to have you as a brother-in-law,” he adds, wistfully.

“Are you two engaged? Again?” Puck asks. 

“Not formally. Not yet, anyway.”

“Not formally _what_?” Kurt asks in the background. “Are they going somewhere formal? Where are they going? Do they need tuxes?”

“No, no, formal engagement,” Blaine says.

“He wants to get _engaged_ to Finn?” Kurt squawks. “That’s a little fast, don’t you think!”

“Maybe I should hang up and you should go work on that making it formal thing,” Puck says. 

“No, I’m saving it for,” Blaine’s voice drops to a whisper, “Christmas. Romantic, right?”

“Sort of like Passover proposals?” Puck says. “Sure. Okay, I’ll try to pin him down. Both meanings. Thanks, Blaine.” 

“Good luck. I hope this works out!” Blaine says, now sounding very excited again.

“Yeah, me too,” Puck says, then ends the call. He sits in the cafe with his empty coffee cup for as long as he can, but eventually he gets too many looks and he heads back to the apartment. He turns the heat when it’s close to the end of Finn’s hours, so at least they’ll start the night decently warm. 

Finn gets home later than usual, carrying a large paper grocery sack. “Hey,” he calls out. “I brought some stuff home.”

“More over-ordered Takis?” 

“Nah, look!” Finn puts the sack down and starts pulling things out of it, including a bag of slightly-bruised oranges, a bunch of just-this-side-of-overripe bananas, some school lunch–sized milk cartons, and several dented can of mixed peas and carrots. 

Puck frowns. “I don’t like peas.” 

“I thought I could eat the peas, and you could have the carrots,” Finn says. “I was thinking about how we don’t eat a lot of fruits and vegetables, and then I started thinking about how if you get malnutrition, your teeth and hair fall out, and I didn’t want that to happen to you, so I got some stuff. You know, for health.”

“Oh, okay. Cool,” Puck says, making a mental note to not shave his head. “We might need to make banana bread with the bananas, though.”

“If we eat them all tonight and tomorrow, it’ll probably be okay.”

“Toss me one, then.” 

“Here,” Finn says, leaning over to hand Puck a banana.

Puck peels the banana and takes a bite. “Thanks,” he says while still chewing. 

“It’s nothing,” Finn says. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Oh, yeah, I had to do a thing earlier,” Puck says. 

“Oh?” Finn says, looking strangely suspicious. “What thing?”

“I put an ad on Craigslist for a bassist,” Puck explains. “Don Pedro says two guys isn’t a band. I figure it might help us pick up gigs at some other spots, too.” 

“Oh,” Finn says, this time sounding like Puck hadn’t given him the answer he had expected.

“I said we’d pay the bassist a flat fee per gig, not a percentage. If we get really famous, we’ll probably have to renegotiate that.” 

“Yeah, makes sense,” Finn says. “We’ll have to set up time to practice, too.”

“If we’re getting gigs, we can afford to cut back on busking and the bodega, so it’d be pretty easy to get practice in. I figure I’ll check out the responses in the morning and see what we have,” Puck says. “Busking was kind of a bust today anyway.” 

“Too cold?”

“Cold, distracted, not a good combo,” Puck says, eating more of the banana. “How’s your head?” 

“Not great, but not bad like it was,” Finn says. “You?”

“Better than it was, yeah,” Puck says. “I think I’ll still go to bed soon, though.” 

“Yeah. Me, too. I’m scheduled for all the next few days but Sunday at the bodega,” Finn says. 

Puck bites back the urge to sigh, nodding instead. “Yeah, okay,” he says. He finishes the banana and stands up to toss out the peel. “Once we get steady gigs, I’ll buy a cookbook, too.” 

“We could get a crockpot.”

“Then it’d better be a crockpot cookbook,” Puck says, starting to change for bed. “I’ll hit the playground tomorrow and do Beatles for the kids.” 

“Aw, I’m missing playground day?” Finn asks. 

“You said you had the bodega,” Puck says while he’s pulling a long-sleeve t-shirt on. 

Finn sighs. “Yeah, I know. I do. I love playground day, is all.”

Puck doesn’t really have a response, because part of him wants to point out that if Finn weren’t practically sprinting to the bodega, he wouldn’t be missing playground day, but it’s late and despite Blaine’s advice, Puck doesn’t feel much like trying to pin Finn down just yet. He shrugs and swaps out his jeans for sweatpants, then lies down on the mattress. Finn turns the light off just a few minutes later and crawls into bed next to him.

“Make sure you eat an orange tomorrow,” Finn says. “For your teeth.”

“I’ll take one with me,” Puck promises. “Night.” 

“Okay. Good.” After a pause, “Night, Puck.”

Puck wakes up once during the night. Finn’s arm is draped over him, and after a moment, Puck registers Finn snuffling against the top of his head. Puck doesn’t move, keeping his breathing even, and he falls back asleep while Finn’s hand is almost petting his chest. 

He manages to get out the door in the morning without waking Finn up, so he leaves a note assuring Finn that yes, he took an orange with him. In between songs, Puck checks the responses to the ad for a bassist. Two of them look promising, but then when he re-reads one, the bassist isn’t available for another ten days. 

That only leaves one, and Puck calls her—Misti—to see if she can meet them at Poe’s and play the gig with them. Finn’s right that they’ll have to rehearse eventually, but it makes sense to see how Misti fits at the same time they’re doing a repeat Mustard Bar appearance. Once that’s set up, Puck plays for a few more hours, then starts to pack it up. 

His phone rings with a number he doesn’t recognize, but if they’re lucky, it could be a gig or something. “Hello?” 

“First, I want to say that I told him _not_ to call Finn,” Blaine says in lieu of a greeting. 

“Oh, God,” Puck says with a groan. “What did he do?” 

“Called him anyway,” Blaine says. “I told him it was a bad idea.”

“ _What_ did he tell him?” 

“I wasn’t present for the actual call. Kurt _says_ all he did was ask a few questions.”

Puck sighs heavily. “Did he tell you what kind of questions?” 

“What was going on between the two of you, what does Finn _want_ to be going on between the two of you, that kind of stuff,” Blaine says. 

“No wonder he looked a little suspicious at one point last night.” Puck sighs again. “What the fuck did Kurt think he was going to accomplish?” 

“I think he was worried about Finn.”

“ _Now_ he’s worried about Finn?” 

“Finn’s his brother. Of course he cares about what’s happening in his life,” Blaine says. 

“Right, sure, which is why he told Finn to move out within a week once you two got back together, that makes _perfect_ sense,” Puck says sarcastically. 

“Kurt said Finn was moving out to give us more privacy,” Blaine says, “and because he wanted his own space.”

“Finn got told he had to vacate. I don’t know what Kurt told anyone else,” Puck says. “So forgive me for doubting his motives now.” 

“He probably misunderstood what Kurt meant,” Blaine says. 

“He’s not stupid,” Puck says, feeling a little angry. “Don’t make excuses. Tell Kurt to butt out.” 

“No, I know that! I didn’t mean that at all!” Blaine says. “I just mean, Kurt doesn’t always get straight to the point, so maybe he misspoke or Finn misconstrued Kurt’s motivation. I know Kurt wouldn’t intentionally hurt him, and of course, neither of us would toss Finn out on the street!”

Puck isn’t actually convinced of those points, but arguing with Blaine isn’t going to get him anywhere. “I mean it, though. There’s nothing good that’s going to come of Kurt interrogating Finn.” 

“I told him not to say anything!”

“Yeah, then I guess I can’t say anything either. Thanks for the heads-up, though,” Puck says. 

“I’m sorry if this caused any trouble between the two of you. We’re both rooting for you!” Blaine says. 

“Uh, thanks?” Puck says. “Later, Blaine.” 

“Goodbye, Puck. Give my best to Finn.”

Puck ends the call and shakes his head. “I’ll probably skip mentioning you to Finn,” Puck says out loud. He feels restless, but he can’t justify another cafe visit, so instead he decides to go home and clean up. 

There isn’t a ton to clean, but he takes the trash to the dumpster, starts the laundry in the basement laundromat, and then scrubs the bathroom before putting the laundry in the dryer. By the time Finn should be getting back from work, the laundry’s folded and the main room has been more or less scrubbed, too. Puck picks up the last lonely banana and sits on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Finn. 

This time, Finn comes in with a plastic grocery bag. “I have salad and squash,” he announces. 

“Squash? Like the stuff your mom used to cook in the oven?” 

“These are acorn squash. Is that what she used to cook?”

“I have no idea,” Puck admits, standing up. “Want me to get bowls so we can split the salad?” 

“Sure. There’s a packet of salad dressing inside the salad bag, too, so that’s nice,” Finn says, setting the grocery bag down next to the sofa. 

“Hopefully not that no-fat one,” Puck says as he grabs the bowls and two forks. “I can cook the squash before our gig tomorrow or something. Oh, we have a bassist coming.” 

“Yeah? That’s awesome! What’s his name?”

“Misti,” Puck says with a grin. 

“Oh, a chick bassist! Cool!” Finn says, grinning back. “When do we meet her?”

Puck laughs as he divides the salad between the two bowls. “Right before the gig.” 

“Oh, wow. Okay.”

“Well, didn’t make any sense to wait, and if she works out, we’ll know for sure, right?” 

“Right. Okay, wow, that’s cool,” Finn says. “Let’s eat salad to celebrate!”

“Life on the wild side,” Puck says, sitting down on the sofa. 

“That’s me, wild,” Finn says. Puck glances over, and Finn’s face is red while he stares intently at his salad, not looking up. 

“We’ll take New Year’s Eve off,” Puck decides. “That gives us a few weeks to get some gigs and build up some money, right?” 

“Sure. Sounds good,” Finn says. He still doesn’t look away from his salad, which he stabs with his fork.

Puck thinks again about Blaine’s advice—pinning Finn down and making him talk—but it still doesn’t seem like the right time to do it, so he doesn’t say anything else. After they finish their salad and get ready for bed, Puck lies down and stares into the dark. 

“Good night,” he says after a few more seconds pass. 

“Night, Puck,” Finn says. 

Puck wakes up in what he’s started thinking of as the usual way—Finn draped over him, aggressively spooning him. He lies there for a few moments and then shakes Finn’s arm gently. 

“Gig day,” Puck says. 

“Gig day?” Finn answers sleepily.

“Also bassist day.” 

“Hmph. Bassists.”

Puck laughs softly. “C’mon, Finn. Time to get up.” 

“Yeah, I’m up,” Finn says. “Awake, see?” He lifts one arm. 

“That’s only an arm. What do you want for breakfast?” 

“Pop-Tart.”

“Singular? You want me to eat the other one? Then I’ll have three Pop-Tarts. Are you trying to make me gain weight?” Puck jokes. 

“Pop-Tart _sssssss_ ,” Finn says. 

“There’s a snake in bed with me who wants a single Pop-Tart,” Puck says with a sigh. 

Finn holds his arm up again, with two fingers raises. “Two. Two Pop-Tarts. Both for me. No snakes. Just two Pop-Tarts for me, who is awake.”

“Now you want me underweight,” Puck says with a sniff as he rolls out of bed. 

“Eat some squash. Eat another orange.”

“If you bring home celery, I’m going to get suspicious,” Puck says, walking toward the Pop-Tarts. “Think it’s worth a try busking on a Sunday?” 

“Maybe, if you really want to take off New Year’s,” Finn says, finally sitting up. The hair on the right side of his head sticks up at a wild angle. 

“Only if you were interested.” 

“Yeah, of course I am,” Finn says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Puck shrugs and pulls out the Pop-Tarts. “Wasn’t sure. Did you have to go to the bodega before tonight?” 

“Yeah, for a few hours.”

“You have time for us to meet back here?” 

“I should, yeah,” Finn says. 

“Cool.” Puck gets dressed and checks the weather as he pulls on his coat. “See you back here, then.” 

“Okay. Good luck out there.”

Puck grins and picks up his guitar, but by a few hours later, he feels like he’s mostly wasting his time. He takes his change to the same cafe from Friday night, and halfway through his coffee, he decides that Blaine might not actually pass on the message to stay out of things. 

Another sip of coffee and Puck decides to call Kurt. He saves the number from the day before as Blaine, then calls Kurt’s number. 

“Hello, Puck,” Kurt says. 

“I’m having trouble deciding which description of you to go with first,” Puck says. “Liar or busybody.” 

“Excuse me?” Kurt sounds comically flustered and offended. 

“You told Blaine that Finn volunteered to move out,” Puck says. “That was a lie. And you called Finn, which you had zero right to do, which was being a busybody.” 

“Finn and I discussed it, and we both decided moving out was the best option for all involved,” Kurt says. 

“No. Stop lying to me. You told him he had a _week_ to leave, so that you and Blaine could have your privacy.” 

“I’m not lying. We _did_ have a discussion,” Kurt insists. “And obviously, yes, Blaine and I wanted our privacy, but Finn certainly seemed to agree with that!”

“Because you were having loud sex, asswipe,” Puck says. “I know Finn. He didn’t feel like there was a discussion involved.” 

“Whether or not we were having sex is none of your business!”

“You sort of made it our business, but whatever,” Puck says. “I _really_ don’t know why you thought you should call him.” 

“Because he’s my brother, and from the discussion you were having with Blaine, I thought he might need someone to talk to,” Kurt says. 

“You only act like a brother to Finn when you need something from him,” Puck says. “I’ve watched this play out the entire time. All you did was confuse him and make him _suspicious_.” 

“He was already confused!”

“And you made it worse. If you’re really such a great brother, wouldn’t he have known he could call you if he wanted to talk?” 

“Maybe he wasn’t aware he _needed_ to talk to someone, but he clearly did,” Kurt says. 

“You’re claiming that you know better what Finn needs than I do? Than Finn does?” Puck asks. “That’s rich.” 

“You can’t be the thing confusing him _and_ the person he talks to about it, Puck,” Kurt says. “Honestly, what’s wrong with letting him know I’m here if he needs someone to talk to?”

“There wouldn’t be, if that’s what you really did, and you were someone who was actually good to talk to, who didn’t try to manipulate him,” Puck says. “Can’t you just leave him alone, after the last two years?” 

“Puck! You can’t expect me to just cut him out of my life!”

“You could be in his life without you having to badger him,” Puck says. “That’s all I’m saying.” 

Kurt huffs. “I wasn’t badgering. I was supporting. It was a productive conversation!”

“Productive for you?” 

“For _him_.”

“And how do you know that?” 

“It seemed productive,” Kurt says. “I think it was helpful for him to be able to talk through it.”

“So basically, you decided that it was productive and that you’d done the ‘right’ thing based on absolutely no feedback from Finn. That’s awesome and also completely typical of you,” Puck says, rolling his eyes. 

Kurt huffs again, loudly this time. “You aren’t even interested in whether it was productive or not. How dare someone other than you talk to Finn about feelings! How dare anybody but you want to know what’s going through his head!”

“I don’t, actually,” Puck says. “I figure what goes on in our heads is private, you know? I think that people should be allowed space to process things and not get probed and interrogated. I know Finn so much better than you ever will, and this conversation’s just proved it.”

“Confirmation bias,” Kurt snaps. “You would think it proved it no matter what I said! Don’t you want to know what he said to me? That’s the real reason you called. Don’t be too proud to admit it.”

“Nope. I wanted to know what you said to him. Big difference,” Puck says. 

“So you don’t want to know that he likes it?”

“I don’t need you to tell me things,” Puck says as calmly as he can. “I thought you had Finn’s best interests at heart. Instead, you’re trying to disclose things he said to you in order to prove a point to me.” 

“Are you worried he didn’t mean what he said to you about the wall?” Kurt asks, sounding smug.

“I think I have to tell Finn about this conversation,” Puck says, even though he can feel himself shaking. “I think you get to explain to him why you’re feeling a need to get one up on me.” 

“I’m soooo sure you’re going to talk to him about this, considering you’ve done so very well with discussing things with him up to this point,” Kurt says. “I have things to do, Puck. Best of luck with all of this.”

“You’re a far worse person than I suspected, Kurt,” Puck says, then ends the call. He spends a few minutes contemplating blocking Kurt’s number, but unless he can do the same for Finn, it won’t make a difference. He has to find a way to warn Finn before he keeps telling Kurt stuff, because Kurt would probably tell Burt or Carole or who knows who else, too. 

Puck knows he probably still looks concerned when he gets back to the apartment to change shirts before the gig, and he tries not to look too upset when Finn gets home. He has a feeling he’s failing at that, though. 

When Finn gets back that night, he has a bag of apples in one hand and a smushed box of what looks like individual packets of peanuts tucked under his arm. He doesn’t even have the door shut all the way before he’s hurrying to the sofa to sit next to Puck. 

“What’s wrong?” Finn asks. 

“It’s… it’s not nothing, but it can probably wait until the morning,” Puck says. “It’s not urgent or anything.” 

“It looks urgent.”

“It was just surprising. That’s all.” Puck forces himself to smile. “See? Fine.” 

Finn narrows his eyes. “It doesn’t look fine.”

“I promise it can wait until the morning. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Finn says, exhaling loudly. “I should get ready for the gig.”

“Meet the bassist night at Poe’s!” Puck says. 

“Yeah! Awesome!” Finn says. He stands up and shuffles around the apartment, looking for his Victory for Lions shirt, presumably, since he asks, “Have you seen my shirt?”

“It’s clean like all the other laundry,” Puck says. “You mean you didn’t notice the sheets were clean?” 

“Uh. No?”

“I’m hurt,” Puck says wryly. 

“Sorry. I’ll try harder to notice next time, okay?” Finn says. “And thanks for doing the laundry.” He digs through his crate, then swaps the shirt he’s wearing for the Victory for Lions shirt. 

“You didn’t notice the bathroom was clean either, did you?” 

“I thought maybe it looked clean.”

Puck snorts. “Okay. Ready?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, let’s go meet… what was her name?”

“Misti.” 

“Right. Misti the Craigslist bassist,” Finn says. “Let’s go meet her!”

When they get to Poe’s, there’s a small Asian woman with a bass guitar standing near the back door, along with a large black man. “Misti?” Puck guesses. 

“Hi,” Misti says as she nods. “Puck, right?” 

“Yeah, good to meet you,” Puck says, shaking her hand. “This is Finn.” 

“Hi,” Finn says, shaking Misti’s hand once Puck is done. 

“This is Dominic,” Misti says, nodding at the man with her. “He comes to gigs with me. I assume that’s not a problem?” 

Puck shakes his head and holds out his hand toward Dominic. “More the merrier.” Dominic nods and shakes hands, then does the same to Finn.

“So, who’s ready to rock?” Finn asks. 

“Don’t take him at face value. He’ll be bringing you oranges for scurvy if he gets worried,” Puck says to Misti, grinning at Finn. “We can go over the set list once we get inside.” Misti nods. 

The gig goes better than Puck had really hoped for. Misti likes the set list, they play well together, and the crowd at Poe’s likes them, too. After their set, Dominic insists on buying all of them a round or two of drinks, and Puck nods. 

“No more than two,” Puck says, looking at Finn. Finn raises his eyebrows and looks like he’s going to argue, and Puck shakes his head. “No more.” 

“We could get something to eat, too,” Finn says. 

“Still only two.”

“We could get wings, Puck.”

“Yeah, okay. The mild ones?” 

“Yeah, duh,” Finn says. “I can’t eat the spicy ones.”

“Where are you two from?” Misti asks. 

“Lima,” Puck answers. “Ohio, not Peru.” 

“And you don’t eat spicy wings?” she says. 

“Nooooooo,” Finn says. “Way too hot!”

Dominic shakes his head. “That’s just sad.”

“Finn’s more delicate than he looks,” Puck says. 

After the first beers arrive, Misti looks over at them. “So are you two—”

“I need to pee!” Finn says, quickly fleeing the bar in the direction of the bathroom.

“Uhhh, is he okay?” Dominic asks. 

“Family stuff,” Puck improvises. “His brother.” 

Dominic and Misti exchange a look. “Back in Lima?” Misti asks, and Puck shakes his head. 

“Also in Brooklyn.” Puck lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I don’t know if you follow politics, but Finn’s stepdad is in Congress. Sometimes political stuff leaks over with Finn’s brother.” 

“Must be tough,” Dominic says.

Puck nods and drinks some of his beer. “Sometimes.” 

Finn returns after a few minutes, acting like he hadn’t just scampered off abruptly in the middle of Misti asking them a question. “Hey,” he says, sitting down and taking his beer. 

“So any nights you can’t do gigs?” Puck asks Misti. 

“I don’t like working every night, but no specific night,” Misti says. 

“I work at a bodega,” Finn says. “Stocking. I can reach all the shelves and nobody wants to rob me because I’m big.”

“Big spoon,” Puck says quietly. 

Dominic signals the bartender that they want another round. 

“One more and we have to head out,” Puck insists. Finn nods in agreement. After they finish up, decide on a rehearsal time with Misti, and leave Poe’s, though, Puck aims for the nearest bodega. “Six pack,” he says to Finn. 

“Sure,” Finn says. “Maybe buy more bananas, too.”

“I’m not eating a banana with beer, though,” Puck says. 

“For your _teeth_ , Puck!”

“My teeth in the morning,” Puck says, picking up a few bananas to go with the six-pack. “Beer tonight.” 

“One banana.”

“No banana, or you don’t get as much beer.” 

“Okay, okay,” Finn says. “I’m just worried about your health!”

“I know, just worry in the morning,” Puck says. He pays for the bananas and beer, then throws his arm around Finn’s shoulders. “Relax tonight.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Finn puts his arm loosely around Puck’s waist. “See? Relaxed.”

“Good.” As soon as they’re back at the apartment, Puck opens two of the beers and sets the rest of the six-pack next to the sofa. He hands one beer to Finn and raises the other one. Finn clinks his bottle to Puck’s. “No toast?” Puck asks. 

“Uh, to Misti the bassist and her friend Dominic,” Finn says. 

“To Misti and Dominic,” Puck repeats, then takes a long drink of his beer. The two of them finish the first two bottles and open two more, and after those are nearly empty, Puck nods at the last two. “Finish it up?” 

“Yeah, we probably should,” Finn says. 

Puck thinks about trying to talk while they’re both at least tipsy or, Puck concedes, maybe closer to drunk, but when he hands Finn the last bottle, Finn’s fingers brush against his, and Puck decides the better use of their drinking is at least leaning against Finn. He drinks part of his last beer and then leans his head on Finn’s shoulder. 

“Heyyy,” Puck says. 

“Hey,” Finn says. 

Puck rubs his face on Finn’s shoulder a few times, then drinks a little beer before stretching up and kissing Finn. Finn seems to think it’s a good idea, setting his beer down to put his arms around Puck as he kisses back. Puck stays in the same position as they kiss until his neck starts complaining, and then he shifts until he’s almost in Finn’s lap. 

“Hey,” Finn says again, not giving Puck a chance to respond before they're back to kissing, Finn pawing at Puck’s back and sides. Puck wiggles a little, getting more comfortable and putting his hands on Finn’s chest. Finn tugs on the bottom hem of Puck’s shirt until he manages to get both hands under it. His hands are warm and rough on Puck’s mid and lower back.

Puck pulls away enough to talk. “You want me to take that off?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “That’s okay?”

Puck nods and leans back to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it in the floor. “Good?” 

Finn runs his hands up and down Puck’s back. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” Puck leans in to kiss Finn again, closing his eyes before their lips touch. While they’re kissing, Finn shifts position, lifting Puck slightly out of his lap and laying him back on the sofa with Finn on top of him. Puck slides his hands up Finn’s chest and around his shoulders. 

Finn drops most of his weight onto Puck, pinning him to the sofa, and Puck would laugh if he weren’t busy kissing Finn. He definitely isn’t doing any of the pinning that’s going on. Finn’s left leg is between Puck’s legs, and as Finn rocks forward, his dick presses into Puck’s hip. Puck lifts his hip as much as he can to add a little pressure. Finn moans against Puck’s lips.

Puck moves as much as he can, lifting his hip again. Finn moans again, this time lightly biting Puck’s lower lip. “You like biting, huh?” Puck asks. 

“Mmhmm,” Finn says, doing it again, just a little harder.

Puck tries to tell himself to just go with what’s already working, but he’s curious and drunk. “That the only place you want to bite?” 

Finn shakes his head, tilting and lowering it to gently bite the side of Puck’s neck, then his shoulder. Puck does his best not to move around too much, but he ends up whimpering a little as his hips move and Finn bites. Finn’s mouth starts to travel down Puck’s chest, nipping as he goes, until he gets to Puck’s right nipple. He lifts his head to look at Puck, eyebrows raised and a big grin on his face.

“Won’t know unless we try, right?” Puck says, because out of everything he’s done, there are still things on the list of things he hasn’t done. 

Finn lowers his head again, carefully taking Puck’s nipple between his teeth and applying the barest amount of pressure.

“That’s not really biting,” Puck says, even though part of his brain says that’s not the smartest thing to say. 

Finn’s grin widens before he sucks on Puck’s nipple, drawing it deeper into his mouth. His tongue flicks over it, and he bites down again, harder this time.

“Oh,” Puck says, feeling a little shudder run through him. “Yeah, okay, that’s good.” 

Finn rolls Puck’s nipple between his teeth, tugging at it and working it with his tongue. The pressure increases. Finn’s right hand lands on Puck’s left hip to pull Puck snugly against him.

“Yeah, biting’s fine,” Puck says a little breathlessly. “It’s good.” 

Finn bears down more with his teeth, just enough to barely cross the line between pleasure and pain. He rocks his body against Puck’s, giving Puck something to grind against.

“Do what you want to do,” Puck says as he grinds up on Finn, partially because his body’s going a little crazy and partially because he’s incredibly curious about what that looks like. 

Finn releases that nipple, biting and sucking across Puck’s chest to the other nipple, which he immediately starts in on. He props himself up just enough with his free arm, the one on Puck’s hip pulling and pushing, encouraging Puck to keep moving. Puck does, whimpering a little with each nip and bite. 

Not moving away from the nipple, Finn mutters something too quietly for Puck to make out the words. “Hmm?” Puck says between whimpers. 

Finn lifts his head to look at Puck with wide, wild eyes. “I really do,” he says, then lowers his head once more, already biting hard at Puck’s nipple as they both rock and swivel their hips.

“Okay,” Puck says, even though he’s not totally sure what Finn meant. It _could_ be what Puck’s brain filled in, but it could also have been something like ‘I love biting’ or ‘I like drinking’ or who knows what else. 

“I do,” Finn insists, Puck’s nipple between his teeth. “I want to.”

“You want to what?” Puck asks. 

Finn releases Puck’s nipple, but laps at it roughly a few times before he answers. “Fuck you.”

“Oh.” Puck keeps moving his hips. “Not tonight,” he finally says. “No lube.” 

“Yeah,” Finn sighs sadly. He start to kiss the center of Puck’s chest, occasionally letting his teeth drag along Puck’s skin as he moves lower and lower, eventually sliding down Puck’s body, loosely wrapping an arm around Puck’s hips, between Puck and the sofa. He bite Puck’s stomach and lifts his head again, eyebrows raised like they had been earlier.

“Okay,” Puck says, nodding a little. Finn practically beams at Puck, then uses his teeth and the hand that had been propping him up to unfasten the snap on Puck’s jeans. He doesn't use his teeth to lower the zipper, just his hand. Puck can almost feel it on his dick, even though Finn’s not touching it, and his hips jerk up a little. 

“I want to,” Finn says softly.

“Okay. Yeah. That’d be good,” Puck says. 

Finn drags Puck’s jeans down just past his hips, so Puck’s dick brushes against Finn’s cheek. Finn turns his head slightly, swiping his tongue over the tip. Puck lifts his head a little and grins at Finn. Finn grins back, then takes the tip of Puck’s dick into his mouth, working his tongue on it and around it like he had Puck’s nipples, only without any teeth.

“Is good,” Puck says, watching Finn’s mouth. “Shit.” 

Finn mouth wraps around Puck’s dick, his lips sliding farther down while his tongue keeps moving. The hand not attached to the arm under Puck comes up to curl around the base. Puck tries not to squirm, and he can hear himself still making whimper-like noises. Finn continues slowly working his mouth down Puck’s dick, taking him in a little at a time.

“Not going to last that long,” Puck says, because he’s suddenly aware that they were kissing and grinding for awhile. 

Finn nods around Puck’s dick, which makes his head bob a little. He lightly squeezes the base like he’s giving Puck additional permission or reassurance. Puck whines again and rocks his hips. Finn licks and sucks harder. His eyes occasionally flicker up to Puck’s face.

“Finn,” Puck says, one hand moving to the top of Finn’s head and lying there as Puck moves his hips faster and it feels like Finn has to be moving his mouth faster, too. Puck holds back for a few more seconds and then comes, whimpering again. 

Finn gags a little, coughing as he pulls back and tries to swallow, but other than slightly watering eyes, he looks pleased with himself. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and grins at Puck again.

“Yeah, you did good,” Puck says, grinning back at Finn. “You going to come now?” 

Finn nods. “Yeah, I wanna.”

“Tell me.” 

“Tell you what?”

“What you want.” 

“Touch me?” Finn asks.

Puck nods and reaches for Finn’s jeans. “Like this?” Finn hesitates before nodding slightly. “No?” Puck asks as he unfastens them. 

“With your hand on me?” 

“I’m getting there,” Puck says with a half-smile as he slides Finn’s jeans off, then tugs on Finn’s boxers. “Better?” he asks, his smile widening as he runs his hands over Finn’s hips. 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “A lot better.”

“Cool.” Puck wraps one hand around Finn’s dick, leaving his other hand on Finn’s hip. “Even better?” 

“Yeah. Oh. Fuck, yes,” Finn says breathily. 

Puck grins and starts moving his hand slowly, watching Finn’s face. Finn’s cheeks flush pink and his eyes flutter closed, his mouth falling open slightly. Puck lets his fingers tighten a little and moves his hand a little faster. 

“You can keep kissing me while I do this,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, that’s good,” Finn says, tilting his head up. Puck lifts his head enough to kiss Finn, his hand still moving. He squeezes Finn’s hip with his other hand. Finn moans and rocks his hips up. 

“I want you to come,” Puck says, his lips moving against Finn’s. 

“Mmhmm,” Finn agrees, moving his hips even more. “I wanna.”

Puck slides his hand up and down faster. “You should do that now.” 

“Mmhmm,” Finn repeats, then he lifts his hips up off the sofa, his body shuddering as he comes in Puck’s hand. He sinks back onto the sofa, red-faced and wearing a stupid-looking grin. “That was so awesome.”

“Yeah, it was,” Puck agrees. “Clean off and go to bed?” 

“Yeah. I’m little spoon.”

“Big little spoon.” 

“I can’t help being big,” Finn says. “It’s just how I’m made.”

“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t say it was a bad thing!” 

“I like how _you’re_ made,” Finn says, standing up and pulling Puck up with him. 

“I figured that out, too,” Puck says. He wraps both arms around Finn and walks them towards the bed. “And we’ll be warm.” 

“Yeah, warm’s good.” Finn topples them both over onto the bed, grabbing the blankets up over them, and snuggles back against Puck. 

“Night, Finn,” Puck says, wrapping his arms around Finn and telling himself not to worry too much about the morning.


	5. Opening Act and the Boojwa Z

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What people think they deserve.

The sun is barely streaming into the apartment when Puck wakes up the next morning. In their sleep, he and Finn have swapped places, and Finn’s arms are around Puck. Puck knows there are multiple ways the morning could go, and some of them would mean Puck would only have to wait for the next gig and the next night of drinking. Some of them might mean there’s never a next night, and that thought’s awful, but Puck knows what he knows from the first gig they played. 

He loves Finn, and fooling around when Finn’s drunk isn’t really what he wants. He loves Finn enough to tell him what Kurt said, or at least vaguely, because Finn shouldn’t think that Kurt will keep confidences. Puck loves Finn enough to take a chance, and that’s what he repeats to himself as he slides out of bed and gets cleaned up. He gets dressed and takes some ibuprofen, leaving more next to a glass of water near Finn, then eats a pack of Pop-Tarts while leaning against the door. 

Puck won’t chase Finn, but they have to get through at least part of the conversation. After Puck finishes his Pop-Tarts, he crinkles the wrapper and clears his throat. 

“Finn?” 

“Pop-Tarts,” Finn says without opening his eyes. 

“Ibuprofen’s next to you,” Puck says. 

“Thanks. It’s not too bad today,” Finn says, reaching for the ibuprofen without looking at it. 

“We have to talk about a couple of things,” Puck says. 

“Uh. We do?”

“Yeah, and you know I’m right about one of them,” Puck says. “You don’t know about the other one, though.” 

“Okay,” Finn says, turning his head towards Puck, though not _really_ making eye contact. “What is it?”

“I know we need to talk about stuff, and I know it’s good to be able to talk to other people, too, but—” Puck breaks off and winces. “I wanted to know what he asked you. He wouldn’t tell me, but what he _did_ do was start volunteering stuff you told him.” 

“He who?” Finn asks. 

“Kurt.” 

Finn’s eyes widen. “He didn’t ask me anything. Not really.”

“I don’t… that’s not the important part. I didn’t ask him what you said. He started volunteering it because he was trying to get one up on me or something?” Puck shakes his head. “You know how he gets, when he wants to win the conversation? He was doing that. With stuff you told him, that I bet you thought he wouldn’t share.” 

“I shouldn’t have told him anything,” Finn says, his eyes getting even wider and vaguely panicked-looking. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say anything, I don’t know why I said anything to him.”

“Hey. It’s okay, how would you have known? I just wanted you to know going forward, you know?” 

“Oh God, I can’t believe he said something to you, I didn’t think he would say anything, I was just so _confused_ , and he called and just—” Finn breaks off, breathing really fast like he’s starting to hyperventilate. He stands up and starts pulling on the first clothes he reaches, not even looking to see if they match. “I’ve gotta go,” he says, bolting towards the door, grabbing his shoes in one hand as he goes. 

Puck sighs and stands up, stepping to the side so Finn can leave. “Just don’t call him again.” 

Finn just shakes his head rapidly, hopping on one foot as he puts on first one shoe, then the other, then he’s gone, out the door. Puck sighs again. 

“Knew that could happen,” Puck says to himself and the empty apartment. “But he had to know what Kurt did. Right?” No one answers of course, and Puck sighs. 

He heads out to busk as soon as he gets his coat on, and he stays out longer than he usually would, getting colder. He has a feeling that he won’t see Finn before he falls asleep, so he figures it’s better not to go sit at home doing nothing. Instead he goes to the cafe and starts calling venues. Poe’s Mustard Bar gives them a tentative Tuesday night slot, starting in a week, and Puck calls Don Pedro again after that. Nothing that week, just like Poe’s, but Thursday night again the next week, and Puck feels a little better as he calls more places. 

Death by Audio says they can fill in Saturday night for an opening act and then try out Monday nights after that. Puck knows that was pure luck—the Saturday night band’s usual opening act had canceled just ten minutes before Puck called. It’s looking like a passable roster, though, and Puck decides to end there for the day. They need to meet up with Misti and rehearse at least once or twice anyway. 

The apartment is dark when Puck gets home, and he eats before brushing his teeth and cutting out the lights. When he falls asleep, Finn still isn’t there, and Puck tells himself it’s not _that_ much colder. 

Finn isn’t there when Puck wakes up, either, and he also tells himself that it wouldn’t be the first time Finn woke up before him. The sun’s relatively high, which means the apartment’s relatively bright, and maybe Finn picked up a full extra shift at the bodega. He purposely avoids the Pop-Tart box and grabs the last of the bruised oranges and a cereal bar to take with him busking. 

By the time busking dries up for the day, Puck feels like he needs to either make sure they have some rehearsal time decided on, so he texts Misti a few times and after they agree on a couple of good times, he texts them to Finn. 

Puck isn’t totally sure if he’s expecting a response from Finn, and he definitely doesn’t expect one immediately, but it doesn’t take too long for an _ok_ to show up. Puck shrugs a little and decides it’s better than nothing. 

Tuesday night is pretty much like Monday night, but when Puck wakes up Wednesday morning, he has to admit to himself that there’s no way Finn came in, slept, and left two nights in a row, all without Puck noticing. He forces himself to check the Pop-Tart box, which confirms that Finn hasn’t been there, not even for Pop-Tarts. 

“Well, fuck,” Puck says out loud, and it echoes. 

He argues with himself for half of the day that it doesn’t matter where Finn’s staying, as long as he’s safe, but the rest of him says that he can’t know if Finn’s safe if he doesn’t have some clue about where Finn is. After he gets a cup of coffee and some vending-machine quality food, he decides to call Blaine to check in. If Finn’s with them or someone they know, it’s not ideal, but at least Puck’d know Finn was relatively safe if wearing dirty clothing. 

Puck sits down on a bench in the park and presses Blaine’s name on his phone, thinking to himself that he is definitely still talking to Blaine Anderson more than he ever thought he would be in late 2016. 

“Hi, Puck,” Blaine says. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just swell,” Puck says. 

“You don’t sound so good. Is everything okay?” 

“Look, I don’t want to know details or addresses or anything, but I just wanted to make sure he’s safe and warm and all that. Even though his clothes are probably gross.” 

“Oh. Yes, he’s fine,” Blaine says. “He didn’t even tell you where he was going?”

“I’d kind of just told him that his brother was blabbing his secrets, so no.” 

“Well, that _could_ explain the drinking, then.”

Puck sighs. “Probably. I felt like I had to tell him what Kurt was doing, though.” 

“I understand. I really don’t think Kurt was being intentionally malicious,” Blaine says. 

“You and I aren’t probably going to see eye to eye on Kurt’s motivations ever, but either way, it wasn’t okay,” Puck says. “And _I_ had to be the one to tell him and I’m the one still at home.” 

“Dani won’t let him do anything stupid or dangerous, so you don’t have to worry about him too much,” Blaine says. “I take it you never pinned him down for that talk?”

“Kind of hard to finish the second topic of conversation when the first one was Kurt’s loose lips sinking ships.” 

Blaine sighs. “Well, hopefully he’ll go back to the apartment soon. I don’t think Dani’s sofa is very comfortable for somebody that size.”

“Not many are. We have rehearsal Friday so I guess I’ll see him then if not before. Thanks, Blaine.” 

“You’re welcome. Good luck with all of this. I’m sorry it’s all such a mess.”

“Yeah. Later,” Puck says, ending the call. He decides to give Finn one more night, and if he doesn’t show back up, he’ll text him midday on Thursday. His choice of songs for busking the rest of the day is probably a little melancholy, but the money doesn’t fall off too badly. 

Finn doesn’t show up again Wednesday night, so after Puck takes a lunch break on Thursday, he pulls out his phone. 

_So do I need to send clean clothes to you or what?_ Puck types, a little angrier than he realized he was. _You are at least coming to rehearsal, right?_

_yeah ok_

Puck glares at the phone, because that’s not an answer. _Kurt fucks up and I get punished huh?_

_it’s not like that_

_nah it pretty much is like that from this end_ Puck sends back. 

_well it’s not what I meant ok_

_are you ever coming back?_

This time, the return message from Finn doesn’t come for several minutes: _do u want me back?_

Puck rolls his eyes a little. _I was the one sitting in front of the door remember?_

_i’ll see u at rehearsal_

Puck scavenges a clean box from one of the nearby dumpsters and puts half of Finn’s clean clothes into it, then sends Kurt a text. 

_You can come get Finn’s clothes and take them to him since you’re so damn invested_

Instead of a reply from Kurt, Puck gets a text from Blaine, which reads _I will bring Finn his things. I’m horribly sorry about all of this._

 _You’re not the one that caused it but thanks_ Puck sends, flopping moodily onto the mattress. If Finn doesn’t want to move back in, there’s not really much reason for Puck to even be in Brooklyn, and all of it sucks. Most of all, Puck thinks it’s really unfair that Kurt is the one that precipitated it but getting none of the consequences, not even having to take a box across Brooklyn. 

Blaine shows up three hours later, carrying two canvas tote bags that he sets on the counter next to the refrigerator. “What’s that?” Puck asks. 

“Groceries,” Blaine says, beginning to unload the canvas bags, which contain a surprising amount of food, including a loaf of wholegrain bread, several varieties of fruits and vegetables, and about a dozen cans of organic soup.

“Am I throwing a party?” Puck asks. 

“Finn’s apparently concerned about your diet,” Blaine says, unpacking a large bottle of multivitamins and a slightly smaller bottle of vitamin D supplements. “Dani keeps texting me.”

“You know what’s a way to be concerned about my diet? In-person,” Puck says with a snort. 

“He’s mostly sitting on her sofa, drinking and crying,” Blaine explains. “She’s been marathoning the second season of _Daredevil_ and keeps texting me the things he’s saying. He’s very worried about your teeth and bone health.”

“He also refuses to come home, so he can’t be that worried,” Puck says. “I put some of his clothes in that box over there.” 

“Dani says he keep saying how upset he is that Kurt told you what he told him, and then there’s usually more crying. The whole issue seems to be that he’s very upset he told Kurt anything, and even more upset that Kurt told you what he told him.”

Puck stares at Blaine for a minute. “And that’s why he won’t come home? That doesn’t make any sense. Kurt’s not here.” 

“I think he thinks you think badly of him,” Blaine says. “I’m really not clear on any of the details. I’m not sure Dani has been paying that much attention to them.”

“I think badly of Kurt, does that count?” Puck says, shaking his head. “Well. Thanks for the food, I guess?” 

“I’ll tell Dani to tell him not to worry about what you’re eating, but that you would like him to come back,” Blaine says. 

“I texted him. He just said he’d be at rehearsal,” Puck says. 

“I’m sure he wants to come back. Things seem very complicated at the moment. Maybe a little space is good for both of you, and once he’s back, you can actually pin him down like we talked about,” Blaine says. “Maybe start with something less incendiary, like that you _enjoy_ what you’ve been doing, but you would like to discuss it a little bit.”

Puck snorts. “Or do it while sober,” Puck says under his breath. “I’ll probably talk to you soon. Thanks for taking the stuff to Finn.” 

“Not a problem. I’m sorry for whatever part I played in this,” Blaine says. “I should have taken the call outside.”

Puck shrugs. “Kurt probably decided to call Finn the moment I mentioned it was about Finn. You and I know he’s always been a little weird about Finn.” 

Blaine sighs. “Yeah, that’s true. He’s odd about that.”

Puck knows that’s probably the most acknowledgment he’ll get from Blaine, but it’s still a little gratifying to know that someone else has noticed it. After Blaine leaves, Puck uses the groceries to make himself a grilled cheese sandwich, and he slices up the kiwi to have with it. If he weren’t still feeling a little mad, he’d take a picture and text it to Finn, but since he is, he just takes the picture. Either he can show it to Finn later or he can torture himself with it later. 

The problem with seeing Finn at rehearsal is that Misti will be at rehearsal too, and Puck’s not really sure how that will go. The result is that he cuts busking short on Friday morning and ends up sitting around in the apartment waiting with about two more hours free than necessary. After all of that, Finn and Misti—and Dominic—get there at almost the exact same time. The rehearsal is very professional and even productive, and if Misti and Dominic pick up on anything, they decide not to mention it, instead leaving quickly as soon as rehearsal is over. 

Puck closes the door behind them and leans on it, looking at Finn with one eyebrow raised. Finn continues sitting on the sofa, looking uncomfortable. Puck studies him for a few moments and then sighs. 

“Are you going to come back?” Puck asks softly. 

“I don’t know if I should,” Finn says, looking miserable. 

“I don’t get it,” Puck says. “Did I do something? Was I not supposed to call to make sure you were okay, wherever you were?” 

“No. It’s me. I’m the one messing things up,” Finn says. 

“The only thing you’re messing up is coming back for rehearsal and making me send clothes in a cardboard box,” Puck says, crossing his arms. 

“You didn’t have to send the clothes,” Finn says. “I could’ve gotten them, if you didn’t want to have to send them.”

“You weren’t getting them, so yeah, I had to make sure they got there somehow.” Puck says. “Dammit, Finn, I can’t believe you’re giving Kurt this much power.” 

“I’m not! I never should have said anything!”

“And now apparently you don’t even want to live here!” 

“I do!” Finn says. “I do want to live here!”

“Then why aren’t you here? ‘Cause it’s not like there’s some deadline where suddenly Kurt spontaneously combusts or something,” Puck says. 

“Because—” Finn’s face turns red. “Because he told you what I said!”

“First of all, that was him telling me, not me asking, so I really don’t get why you’re acting like I’m a leper, and second, he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, but it was still stuff he shouldn’t have been sharing. I cut him off after the second time he tried telling me stuff.” 

“Oh God, you already know?” Finn says, his face turning even redder before it disappears into his hands. “Oh God.”

“Uh, whatever you’re thinking of must not be one of the two things he said, because there’s no reason they should inspire that reaction,” Puck says. 

“No, I didn’t want you to know! Because I don’t want to make it weird!”

“You didn’t make anything weird until you ran away!” 

Finn makes a sad whale noise. “Because I wouldn’t let you tell me! If I’d let you tell me, then it _would_ all be weird. It would be _awful_!”

“It’d be awful to be sober and kiss me,” Puck says flatly. “Awesome.” 

“What?” Finn lifts his head from his hands. “No. It’d be awful when you told me you didn’t _want_ to do stuff sober. I didn’t want to let you tell me that we only did stuff because you were drinking.”

“What are you talking about?” Puck says. “Is that what Kurt told you I was going say? He is such a fucking liar!” 

“If you had somebody better here, somebody, you know, _hotter_ , you’d want to be with them instead, but all you’ve got is _me_ , because you moved here because everything is a mess for _me_ , and now you’re stuck and, like, _lonely_ , and I’m the only person you’ve got, and I ruined everything!”

“Is that what Kurt told you? That you were just here?” Puck asks, trying to keep himself from shaking. 

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Finn says. “He just asked, you know, was I _sure_?”

“Hand me your phone.” 

“Huh?”

“I’m blocking his number and deleting his contact information, I swear to God,” Puck says. 

“Huh?”

“There wasn’t a problem until Kurt stuck his nose in,” Puck says. “And then you listen to _him_ instead of _me_!” 

“I didn’t want to listen to you, ‘cause you were gonna tell me it was fun, but it couldn’t happen again, so if I didn’t let you talk about it, it could keep happening for a while,” Finn says. “I wanted it to keep happening.”

Puck stares at Finn. “I wasn’t going to tell you that. I just thought you needed a couple of times before, you know, anything happened sober. But after a few times, you know, only-when-drunk loses its appeal.” 

“I thought if you weren’t drinking, you wouldn’t want to do anything with me,” Finn says. 

“Uh, you’re the one who didn’t ID as pan or bi or anything, not me,” Puck says. 

“Yeah, but you’re the one who told me that just ‘cause you’re pan doesn’t mean you’re attracted to every guy out there!” 

“Have you seen your brother and his boyfriend?” Puck says. 

“But why would you tell _me_ if you weren’t trying make sure _I_ knew you weren’t attracted to me?”

“Okay first of all, that was a philosophical discussion, and secondly, we were living the same room and I wanted to make sure you weren’t afraid of waking up with my dick up your ass or something,” Puck says. “And that was like four years ago!” 

“I’m not _afraid_ of that!” Finn says, then turns red again. 

“Well not _now_ you’re not,” Puck says. 

“Exactly!” Finn says. “I’m not!”

“So you have to stop letting Kurt ask you ‘questions’ that make you think stupid stuff!” 

“Fine! I will!”

“And why would I do that anyway?” Puck says with a frown. “That’d be really shitty.” 

“I don’t know!” Finn says. “Because I was here, and it’s my fault you’re stuck in this shitty apartment with no heat, and maybe you were lonely. I don't expect you to feel the same as me, okay?”

“Finn. Look at me.” Puck stares at Finn until he looks up, eyes suspiciously damp. “Did you ask me to come out here? Or did I just tell you I was on my way?” 

“You just told me,” Finn says, “because you’re the best best friend.”

“Yeah. Exactly. So you have to assume I’m where I want to be.”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

Puck exhales a little. “Well, yeah, I am, but also because I love you.”

“And I love you, too,” Finn says. “That’s why I didn't want to let you tell me we couldn't do that anymore.”

“But I wasn’t going to!” 

“But I thought you were!”

“But that’d be, like, a bad best friend, even,” Puck says. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

“So you’d let me keep on touching you and kissing you to be a good friend?” Finn asks. “‘Cause I’m worried about that, too!”

“Oh my God,” Puck says, shaking his head. “No, I wouldn’t _start_ it if I was just going to tell you we could only do it once or twice.” 

“I thought maybe it was an accident, because we were drunk.”

“I thought you were only willing because you were drunk. The whole dude thing, I mean,” Puck says. 

“I was only _brave_ enough because I was drunk!” Finn says.

“What about now?” Puck asks. “Do you still have to be drunk to be brave enough?” 

“No! Not now that I know that _you_ don’t have to be drunk to want to!”

“Okay. Then maybe we’re actually on the same page, here?” 

“Well, I guess we are,” Finn says, his tone of voice still sounding like they’re arguing.

“I mean, except for some of your clothes. That kind of thing,” Puck says. 

“I can go get those!”

“You don’t have to do that _right_ away, do you?” 

“Fine! I guess I won’t!” Finn says. 

“Oh my God, Finn, I just meant we were both here and not working and sober?” Puck says a little wryly. 

“Good!” Finn says. He stands up, takes the few steps from the sofa to the door, and grabs Puck, pulling him into a hard kiss. 

Puck would laugh if he weren’t otherwise occupied, and he ends up grabbing the front of Finn’s shirt and leaning back on the door. Finn presses his weight against Puck, pinning him against the door while they kiss, one of Finn’s arms braced against the wall by Puck’s head and the other wrapping around Puck’s waist. 

“I’m still not doing any pinning,” Puck mutters after a moment. 

“Huh? Did you want to pin me instead?” Finn asks. “We can switch.”

Puck laughs and shakes his head. “It’s all good.” 

“Yeah, it is, so can we kiss some more now?” Finn says.

Puck kisses Finn instead of answering, moving one of his hands to the back of Finn’s neck. Finn slides one hand down Puck’s back, over his ass to the back of his thigh and back up again. Puck moves his mouth to Finn’s neck and grins. 

“Did you want something?” he asks jokingly. 

“Just this is good,” Finn says. “I can do this all day.”

“I might hold you to that.” Puck puts his other hand around Finn’s shoulders, a little below the hand on Finn’s neck. Finn laughs a little before kissing Puck again. Puck puts more of his weight against the door as he leans and they kiss. After they’ve been making out for a while, Finn takes a step back from the door, pulling Puck with him. He pivots and walks Puck backwards to the sofa. 

Puck sits down when the back of his legs hit the edge of the sofa, still holding on to Finn. Finn keeps pushing Puck back, though, until Puck is lying down with Finn mostly on top of him. Puck wiggles and shifts a little to find the most comfortable position. 

“Hey,” Puck says, with a grin after a few more moments. 

“Hey,” Finn answers. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“I’m sorry you thought I was going to be a jerk.” 

“I didn’t think you would really want me,” Finn says. “Not like for _real_.”

“Why not?” Puck asks. 

“I’m not that lucky.”

Puck makes a face, because he knows Finn well enough to know it’s more likely that Finn thinks he doesn’t deserve it. Puck has to stop himself from going too far down that line of thought, though, because he doesn’t really want to get worked up over Carole right then. 

“I’ll paint you green in March,” Puck says. “Deal?” 

“Maybe you can just kiss me some more, and we’ll skip the paint,” Finn says. 

Puck laughs. “What if it was edible paint?” 

“Yeah, okay, that’ll work.”

Puck tugs Finn down into another kiss, sliding one hand down Finn’s back and then under Finn’s shirt. Finn counters by pulling up on Puck’s shirt. Puck leans up enough that Finn can pull it higher, which Finn does, pulling it all the way off over Puck’s head and discarding it on the floor. Puck sinks back down, moving his other hand under Finn’s shirt, too. 

“Oh, did you want mine off, too?” Finn asks, grinning down at Puck. 

“Yeah, that’d be kind of nice,” Puck says as he grins back. 

“All you had to do was say,” Finn says, yanking his shirt off and flinging it onto the floor much harder than he did Puck’s. “See?”

“So what if I told you that I want more clothes off, while you’re already flinging things onto the floor?” 

“Mine or yours?”

“I was referring to yours, but both would be good, too,” Puck says. 

“Then I can do that, too,” Finn says, sitting back to undo his jeans. He wriggles out of them, kicking them aside, then puts his hands on the front of Puck’s jeans to unfasten the button. “Keep going?” Puck nods. Finn unzips Puck’s jeans and pulls them off, shoving them to the side as well. 

“This hardly seems fair,” Puck says, putting his hand on the waistband of Finn’s boxers, then putting his palm over them, on top of Finn’s dick. 

“Did you want those off too?”

“Did you have a reason _not_ to take them off?” Puck asks. Finn shakes his head. “Then I think you should take them off now.” 

Finn grins wider as he tugs off his boxers, then climbs back onto Puck, once again pinning him to the sofa. “Do you like this better?”

“Oh yeah,” Puck says, wrapping one leg around Finn’s. “I definitely do.” 

“Awesome,” Finn says, immediately kissing Puck again. This time, his hands move up and down Puck’s body, stroking his sides and grabbing a little at the sides of his ass. Puck slides one hand between them, putting his hand around Finn’s dick and moving it slowly. Finn makes a little noise into Puck’s mouth before pulling away and pressing his lips to the side of Puck’s neck. 

“You still like biting when you’re sober?” Puck says teasingly. Finn nips the side of Puck’s neck, simultaneously rocking his hips to push against Puck’s hand. “I guess that’s a yes.” Puck tightens his fingers a little. “Go to town.” 

Finn laughs with his lips still against Puck’s neck, nipping again, then moving his mouth lower to bite at the top of Puck’s shoulder. Puck wiggles a little and nods as he keeps moving his hand on Finn’s dick. Finn bites and sucks the skin on Puck’s shoulder and the top of his chest, and Puck whimpers. As Finn moves farther down, though, Puck puts his hand on Finn’s shoulder. 

“Hey, my arms aren’t _that_ long,” Puck complains. 

“Guess you’ve gotta choose if you want my mouth on you or your hand on me,” Finn says. 

“I can’t have both any longer?” Puck says, sticking his tongue out at Finn. “Fine. You choose.” 

“If I choose, I’m always gonna choose you,” Finn says, sliding down Puck to kiss his chest and then carefully bite at one nipple. 

“Relationship status: bite marks?” Puck asks. “I can work with that.” 

Finn lifts his head. “We’re in a relationship?”

“Uhh yeah.” 

“Like a _boyfriend_ relationship? Or just like a ‘we hook up’ relationship?”

“Finn. Like boyfriends.” 

“I was just checking!” Finn says. “I didn’t want to assume or anything!” 

“You can assume _good_ things!” 

“Okay, okay!” Finn says, lowering his head and taking Puck’s nipple in his mouth again. 

“One track mind,” Puck says, running his fingers through Finn’s hair. 

Finn lifts his head again. “You want me to stop?”

“Statement, not a complaint,” Puck says. “It’s pretty hot.” 

“I mean, if you wanted me to do something else…”

“That’d depend on the something else,” Puck says, grinning at Finn. 

“Oh, okay,” Finn says, biting Puck’s nipple again, flicking his tongue over it. He puts his hands on Puck’s hips to hold them down against the sofa. Puck whimpers a little and arches his back. 

“Now I’m not supposed to move?” Puck asks. Finn shakes his head without releasing Puck’s nipple. In fact, he sucks and bites on it harder. “I guess not.” Puck lets his back hit the sofa again. 

After several minutes of working on that nipple, Finn moves to the other. Finn’s chest keeps bumping into Puck’s dick, then sliding over it, and after a few times, Puck’s pretty sure that it’s at least somewhat intentional. 

“Tease,” he tells Finn.

“Huh?” Finn asks, lifting his head. 

“Those little moves with your chest.” 

Finn tilts his head slightly, looking puzzled. “Huh?”

“On my dick, dummy.” 

Finn looks down at his chest. “Oh. Uh, sorry?”

“Are you really?” Puck asks. 

“Kinda. A little.”

“I don’t really believe you,” Puck says. “I think you just plan to torture me.” 

“Hey! I wouldn’t ever do that!” Finn insists. 

“Never?”

Finn does the head tilt again. “Not, like, _meanly_.”

“I didn’t say it was meanly. Just torture,” Puck says with a grin. 

“So I should keep doing it, huh?”

“Unless you had something also good but less torturous in mind,” Puck says. “Or were _you_ enjoying the torturing?” 

“I was enjoying doing stuff to you,” Finn says. “I can do that with or without the torturing part, so just tell me what you want.”

“I think that’s a ‘yes, Puck, I was enjoying torturing you’,” Puck says, “so you should keep doing that.” 

“Okay,” Finn says, lowering his mouth to Puck’s other nipple, chest once again bumping and sliding against Puck’s dick. Puck lifts his chest up just barely, whimpering again. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Finn keeps sucking and biting, along with kissing, and the chest-bumping becomes increasingly more intentional, at least from Puck’s perspective. Puck mostly keeps his fingers running through Finn’s hair as he whimpers, but eventually he forces himself to speak again. 

“What if I told you you could do anything you wanted? What would you do?” Puck asks. 

Finn face turns red. When he presses it against Puck’s chest, it feels hot, too. “I dunno.”

“C’mon, tell me,” Puck says. “So we can either do that or figure out how we’re going to.” Finn mumbles something into Puck’s chest. “I couldn’t understand that.” 

Finn lifts his face slightly. “But I want to do _everything_.”

“Well, yeah, that too,” Puck says. “I could blow you. Or you could blow me again. Or both. We don’t really have any lube.” 

“I don’t think we could do both on this sofa,” Finn says. “We can barely do one on this sofa.”

“At some point after we get a bigger mattress, we’re going to get a bigger sofa. We could swap?” 

“Or we could go to the bed?”

“Yeah, okay,” Puck says with a small shrug. 

“Unless you don’t want to,” Finn says. 

“I want to, but I’m not the one who has to move first,” Puck says with a grin. 

“Oh, okay, yeah!” Finn says, standing up. Puck sits up and then stands, grabbing Finn’s hand as they step over to the mattress. 

“Lie down,” Puck says, poking at Finn’s shoulder with his other hand. Finn lies down and holds his hand out for Puck. Puck takes it and lets Finn pull him down on top of him. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Finn says. “Now you’ve got _me_ pinned down.”

“At least I didn’t have to wrestle you down,” Puck jokes, then kisses Finn hard, bracing himself with his hands on either side of Finn’s head. 

“You could if you wanted to. I’d let you win,” Finn says. 

“Nah,” Puck says. “This is more fun.” He cups Finn’s jaw in one hand and kisses him again, then starts sliding down Finn’s chest, kissing it a few times and dragging his fingertips down. Finn makes a whining noise and lifts his hips. “I’m getting there,” Puck promises, but he stops near Finn’s belly button and kisses around it. 

Finn whines and puts one of his hands on Puck’s head. “Puuuuck.”

Puck laughs and wraps his hand around the base of Finn’s dick, then licks across the very tip. “Just that?” 

Finn lifts his hips again. “C’mon, _pleeeease_.”

“I was returning the favor,” Puck says, then takes as much of Finn’s dick into his mouth as he can at once. 

“Oh fuck,” Finn says quietly. “Oh, Puck, oh God.”

Puck runs his thumb along the underside of Finn’s dick and starts moving his mouth slowly up and down, his other hand resting on Finn’s hip. Finn buries his fingers in Puck’s hair, moaning. Puck keeps his thumb moving at the same rate of speed, carefully speeding up how fast his mouth is moving and finding a good rhythm. 

“How are you so _good_ at this?” Finn asks, rocking his hips up. Puck shrugs a little without breaking his rhythm. “Well, you are. You’re— oh, fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Puck laughs a little, and he slides his free hand as far up Finn’s chest as he can reach, barely skimming Finn’s skin with his fingertips. Finn’s hand tightens in Puck’s hair. Puck nods a little and moves his mouth even faster, flicking his tongue across the tip of Finn’s dick each time he pulls back. 

“I’m gonna come soon,” Finn warns. Puck raises the hand on Finn’s chest into a thumbs-up and keeps moving his thumb, sliding the rest of his hand barely up Finn’s dick. Only another thirty seconds or so pass before Finn’s hips jerk upwards as he comes, pulling on Puck’s hair and letting out a whiny little moan. 

Puck kisses his way back up to Finn’s neck, then flops over onto the mattress next to Finn. “Good?” 

“Yeah,” Finn says, between breaths. “Wow. You rock at that.”

“You were doing pretty damn good at it, too.” 

Finn grins at Puck, then kisses him and starts to roll on top of him. “Now you.”

Puck wakes up feeling rested to a moderately bright apartment, Finn wrapped around him, and no headache, which makes it one of the best mornings he’s had and definitely the best morning in the apartment. They don’t have to be anywhere for at least a few hours, when they rehearse with Misti and then head to the gig, and Puck slowly turns until he’s facing Finn. 

“Morning,” Puck says quietly, smiling a little. 

“Hi,” Finn says, eyes still closed. “Pop-Tarts?”

“We need to start keeping them next to the bed or something,” Puck says. “Hi.” 

“Did you sleep good?” Finn asks, opening his eyes and smiling widely at Puck. 

“Yeah,” Puck says, and he nods as his smile gets bigger. “I think we can officially say we need a bigger bed, though, and not a second mattress.” 

“I don’t know, you think we _really_ need all the space?” Finn asks, rolling onto Puck. “We can take up less room if we need to.”

“Need? No,” Puck agrees. “It just might be _fun_ to have a little more space.” 

“Yeah, I guess it could be,” Finn says. 

“We could go to Ikea or something when we take New Year’s Eve off. Ring in the New Year on a new bed.” 

“Oh yeah, that would be cool. Plus, we could get cinnamon rolls!”

“We could eat them in bed the next morning,” Puck says. “If we aim just right, we can make pictures that make us look like very successful musicians.” 

“We _are_ very successful musicians,” Finn says. “Pretty soon, I won’t even have to work at the bodega anymore.”

“Did I tell you the name of the band we’re opening for tonight?” 

“Nope, but you were _kinda_ busy being mad at me.”

“You were sort of barely responding to texts, too,” Puck says, sticking his tongue out. “Anyway, get this: the Boojwa Z.” 

Finn’s forehead wrinkles up as he frowns. “Like… the people we learned about in history?”

“Except B-o-o-j-w-a and then just Z, ‘cause I guess that makes it cooler,” Puck says. 

“Well, that’s kinda weird, I guess.”

“Yeah, but if people like ‘em, maybe they’ll like us, too.” 

“And then we can have our own shows instead of opening for bands with stupid names like Boojwa Z!” Finn says. 

Puck grins and kisses Finn. “Exactly.” 

They get out of bed just in time to eat a little before Misti and Dominic arrive to rehearse. Puck thinks that the rehearsal goes well enough that they could consider trying to add some original stuff in a couple of weeks, assuming all of their gigs let them intersperse it. The backstage area at Death by Audio is a little cleaner and a little bigger than anywhere else they’ve played, and Boojwa Z are nice enough, if exactly as weird as Puck expected. 

It feels pretty good to be playing for a larger crowd, and after a couple of songs, Puck feels like the audience is getting into it more. Puck glances at Finn a few times during the set, grinning each time, and when they play their last song, the applause is definitely louder and longer than any gig before, even given the increased crowd size. 

“I think we’ve got something here,” Puck says to Finn as they head off the stage. 

Finn puts his arm around Puck’s waist. “Yeah, I think we really do.”


	6. Shea Stadium (Not The One With The Beatles)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good at music, better at sex.

By the morning of the first night of Hanukkah, which is also Christmas Eve, Puck thinks that they already have enough money to warrant spending some on a bed that holds a full-size mattress off the floor. It’s bare-bones, but Puck had been right: at the right angle, it looks a lot more impressive. 

The day before New Year’s Eve, Puck still wakes up with Finn draped over him, but Puck’s arm isn’t falling off the mattress at least. He rolls over carefully and kisses Finn softly until he can feel Finn responding. 

“Morning,” Puck says, rolling onto his back and grinning at Finn. 

“Hey,” Finn says. “Still like waking up with me?”

“Yep. And sleeping with you. And lots of other things with you.” 

“Naked things?” Finn asks, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Very naked things,” Puck says with as solemn of a nod as he can manage.

“And hey, it’s almost our day off!”

“One more gig, and then we don’t work until 2017,” Puck says. “Pretty good deal.” 

“Maybe I won’t have to work in the bodega in 2017!” Finn says. “More time to spend with you.”

“You know what the first question some interviewer’s going to ask us eventually is? ‘Do you two ever get tired of each other?’ And we’ll just stare at him like he’s dumb.” 

“Nobody could get tired of you,” Finn says. 

“Probably some people could,” Puck says. “Not you, though.” 

“Nope, never,” Finn agrees. “I do have to go to the bodega today, though, since it’s not 2017 yet.”

“Party pooper. Not tomorrow!” 

“Nope, not tomorrow,” Finn says. 

“And we have five days of gigs lined up every week now.” 

“Victory for Lions is on our way to the top of the charts. You know, eventually.”

“Rent’s paid, we have a bed, the heat’s turned on, and your almost-brother-in-law keeps bringing us groceries from Whole Foods. That’s a pretty good start.” 

“He’s worried about our teeth, Puck,” Finn says. “It’s nice.”

“Because _you_ were,” Puck says, kissing Finn again. 

Finn shrugs while they’re still kissing, then says, “I like your teeth.”

“Oh yeah? You want me to start biting you, too?” 

“Like, I wouldn’t say _no_ to being bitten,” Finn says, “but I like how they look in your head, too.”

Puck laughs and nips Finn’s ear. “Yeah, but you have to get up now, don’t you?” 

Finn sighs loudly and dramatically, letting his arms flop beside him on the bed. “I guess I do. I mean, I don’t want to get fired before I can quit.”

“I like that attitude,” Puck says, kissing Finn again before sitting up on the edge of the bed. “You want some of that pricey imported hot chocolate Blaine brought?” 

“Oh, you mean the guilt hot chocolate?” Finn asks. 

“Guilt tastes pretty good, you have to admit.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. “And I feel bad that Blaine feels guilty, ‘cause he didn’t really do anything wrong, but I don’t feel bad enough to say ‘hey, stop bringing us awesome food’ because I _really_ like not having to live off ramen.”

Puck nods as he stands up. “Exactly.” He pulls out the hot chocolate mix and a measuring cup. “And the travel mugs are nice, too.” 

“Yeah. Those were a really thoughtful touch,” Finn says. 

By the time Finn’s dressed and about to leave, the hot chocolate is ready, and Puck laughs a little as he hands the mug to Finn. “We’re amazingly domestic.” 

“You’ve got the ‘amazing’ part right,” Finn says, giving Puck a kiss as he takes the mug. “And we’ve sorta had the ‘domestic’ part going on for a while now.”

“Yeah, but I think we leveled up. See you at Shea Stadium?” 

“Yup.” Finn kisses Puck again before grabbing his coat and hat and heading out the door to the bodega. 

Puck doesn’t really per se need to go out busking, not with the schedule of gigs they have worked up, but he hits a corner near a few lunch spots and directs people to come to the show that night, plus mentioning their other gigs. He goes over to the playground after that, figuring he might convince a few nannies to drop by after they get off work, since they’re probably having to do their New Year’s celebrating on the thirtieth. 

Shea Stadium is easily the largest venue they’ve booked, but the green room isn’t any bigger, especially not once Misti and Dominic arrive. 

“Covers only or are we throwing in some original stuff?” Misti asks. 

“Me and Puck have been working on a couple songs,” Finn says. “Two of them are even pretty much playable now!”

“I can probably improvise a bass line, unless they’re unusually complicated?” Misti says, and Puck shakes his head. 

“Nah, nothing too weird.” 

“We’re not, like, Rush. Or Primus,” Finn says. “I mean, if you _want_ to make the bass all crazy-complicated, you can totally do that, but it’s not like me or Puck could write it that way.”

“I _could_. Maybe. But I wouldn’t want to,” Puck says. “Ready for our last gig of 2016?” 

“Ready for an actual day off!” Finn says. 

“I’m ready to buy everybody a celebratory round, so you three’d better do great out there,” Dominic says. 

“There’s our marching orders, then,” Puck says, picking up his guitar. The three of them head out on stage just a few moments later. They intersperse their two original songs about a third and two-thirds of the way through the total set, and the audience seems relatively into them. At a minimum, they don’t boo them or look annoyed to have to hear original work, which is good. Puck can’t really make out individual facial expressions with the stage lights, but the couple of Shea Stadium staff they see backstage after their set give them a thumb’s up, which is nice. 

“We’re off work!” Puck says to Finn as he packs up his guitar. 

“One whole day of vacation!” Finn responds, grinning. “Yay!”

“We’ll just have to make sure we don’t spend too much of it sleeping,” Puck says. They head out to meet Dominic while a DJ plays for a few minutes. Dominic already has beers waiting for each of them, plus a platter of wings, presumably at least partially of the non-hot variety. “Thanks,” Puck says, nodding at Dominic as they sit. 

“It’s cool. Just stay away from the ones on that side,” Dominic says, pointing at the right side of the platter. “Those are for me and Misti, since you midwestern white boys can’t handle anything with flavor.”

“I can handle flavor,” Finn insists. “I just, you know, choose not to.”

“We have salt and black pepper and dried mustard at home,” Puck says. “Those are spices.” 

“Not really,” Dominic says. 

“They’re not _not_ spices?” Puck tries. 

“Midwestern white boy spices, I guess,” Dominic says. “Not _real_ spices.”

“I ate a jalapeño once,” Finn says. 

“I don’t think we’re going to convince him,” Puck says. “He’s probably right, is the worst part.” 

“Maybe we can learn to eat real spices,” Finn says. “I could eat another jalapeño.”

“Could you eat a siling labuyo, though?” Misti asks. 

“Is that really hot?” Finn asks. “I guess I could try.”

“Hotter than a jalapeño,” Dominic says. 

“No. He couldn’t,” Puck says to Misti. “You couldn’t, Finn. Don’t try.” 

Finn leans closer to Misti to dramatically stage-whisper, “I’ll get back to you about that.” Puck leans out of Finn’s line of sight and shakes his head. 

“Sure,” Misti says, then winks at Puck. 

“Maybe I can work up to the silly peppers,” Finn says. 

“I have a new year’s resolution for you, Finn,” Misti says. 

“To eat peppers?” Finn asks. “‘Cause I’m down for that, if that’s what it is.”

“Nope. To learn some Tagalog,” Misti says. 

“Okay. What’s Tagalog?” Finn asks. 

“What we speak in the Philippines,” Misti says. “Or at my mother’s house.” 

Finn frowns, his brow furrowing. “I thought they spoke Filipino in the Philippines. With the ‘F’ and not the ‘P’. I remember that part.”

“That’s the people. If you learn some Tagalog, I’ll let you meet my mother.” 

Finn’s frown immediately turns into a smile. “I’ll totally learn it, then!”

“Is it on that Duolingo app?” Puck asks. 

“Just in the last few months,” Misti says. “See? All set.” 

“Sweet! Misti’s taking me home to meet her mom!” Finn says. Dominic coughs loudly, but it looks more like he’s actually stifling a laugh.

“See, at least you already met my mom years ago,” Puck says after Dominic finishes coughing-or-laughing.

“Wait. She approves of me, right?” Finn asks, suddenly looking concerned. 

“Definitely more than your mom would of me, if she knew,” Puck says. “Mom spent years telling me to be ‘more like Finn’.” 

“Yeah, but my mom doesn’t _really_ approve of anybody,” Finn says. “Except Kurt and Blaine, I guess.”

“Kurt’s a better actor than we ever gave him credit for,” Puck says, shaking his head. 

“Who wants another beer?” Dominic asks. 

“You want one more before we head home?” Puck asks Finn. “Or did you want to get started on that day off?” 

Finn leans in close to Puck and whispers, “We’ll get our own beer on the way home.”

Puck slides his hand up Finn’s thigh and smiles. “We’re going to go ahead and go,” he says to Dominic. “Happy New Year, you two.” 

“Happy New Year,” Dominic says. 

“See you next year,” Misti says, waving as they stand. 

Puck throws his arm around Finn once they’re on the sidewalk. “We probably don’t really need our own beer, even.” 

“Nah. We can come up with something way better than beer, I bet,” Finn says. 

“I think you already did, a few weeks back.” 

“Huh?”

Puck squeezes Finn’s shoulders and leans in. “Against the wall?” 

Even under the street lights, Puck can see Finn blushing. “You really want me to do that?”

“Let’s see. There’s the fact that you _can_ and you also _want_ to, so yeah, I do,” Puck says. 

“Cool,” Finn says, possibly blushing even darker. “We should get home fast, then.”

“Do we need to grab a cab?” 

“Let’s not get crazy with the money!” Finn says. 

“It’s like a vacation,” Puck says. “You have to pay a little to travel on vacation.” 

“Okay, okay, let’s get a cab.”

Puck grins widely and hails a cab, and as soon as they’re inside the cab, he turns to Finn and kisses him hard. Finn grabs him by the jacket and holds him close while they kiss and the cabbie drives. The trip to the apartment isn’t really all that far, but Puck still thinks it’s worth the cash that he hands over as they exit. 

“Upstairs time,” Puck says, grabbing Finn’s hand as he closes the cab door with his other hand. 

“Yeah it is,” Finn agrees. He follow Puck up to their apartment, pushing him against the door as soon it closes behind them. “Hey.”

Puck smiles, wiggling his jacket off as well as he can. “Hey.” 

“You want some help?” Finn asks, pulling off his own jacket and then following suit with his shirt and undershirt. 

“I would _not_ say no,” Puck says. He holds his arms out a bit from his sides. Finn starts tugging Puck’s shirt off, up over his head, then undoes Puck’s jeans. Puck lifts his hands to put them on Finn’s shoulders, nodding. “Yeah, exactly.” 

Finn shoves Puck’s jeans down, then grabs Puck’s ass with both hands. Puck shakes enough to get his jeans past his knees, then steps out of them, kicking them to the side. He presses back into Finn’s hands, lifting one leg slightly. 

“Yeah?” Puck asks. 

“Don’t we need the stuff?” 

“Oh yeah.” Puck shrugs and drops his leg, then his hands. “Maybe we should turn the heat up just a little, too.” 

“Oh my God, yeah, I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m totally freezing!” Finn says. 

“It’s vacation, we can splurge on a higher heat setting,” Puck says, walking over to adjust the heat. 

“Maybe we should pick an inside wall, so it’s warmer than the ones connected to outside or the hall, too.”

“Yeah, good point,” Puck says. He looks around for a moment and then goes to a spot on the wall that’s farthest from the window, on an inside wall, and relatively close to the heat, leaning against it. “Good?” 

“Oh, man, are we, like, destroying the passion with all the rearranging and stuff?” Finn asks. “I mean, I still _really_ want to do this, but maybe it’s not the same without the wild-and-crazy part?”

“For all that we’re in a band and stuff, we’re not really _ever_ that wild-and-crazy,” Puck says. He grabs Finn and pulls him close, kissing him. “And it’s hot.” 

“ _You’re_ hot,” Finn says, putting his hand on Puck’s dick and starting to stroke it. 

Puck grins against Finn’s neck, then kisses it. “I know what you’re going to do.” 

“Yeah?”

“Some combination of kissing and biting before you fuck me,” Puck says. 

“Am I too predictable?” Finn asks. “Should I do different stuff instead?”

Puck lifts his head up and frowns at Finn. “Why should you different stuff when we like the stuff we do?” 

“I’m just checking,” Finn says, pushing Puck against the wall with his free hand and still jerking Puck off with the other. 

“There’s nothing wrong with predictable,” Puck says, kissing down Finn’s jaw. “It’s comforting and stuff.” 

“Yeah, but who wants to be the guy that fucks predictably?” Finn asks. 

“Do you want to make 2017 your year of fucking unpredictably?” 

“Do you want to make 2017 the year of _being_ fucked unpredictably?”

“Well, I’d been playing with the idea of 2017 just as the year of being fucked,” Puck says, grinning at Finn. “We can name our second album ‘Fucking Unpredictably’.” 

“We can write sex songs for each other,” Finn says, dipping his head to nip Puck’s left earlobe.

“It’ll be _our_ favorite album, at least.” 

“You’re my favorite everything,” Finn says. He bites Puck at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, still pressing him into the wall. 

“Right back at you,” Puck says, running his hands down Finn’s back. “Pretty much always.” 

Finn kisses Puck’s neck, then bites it again. “Only pretty much?”

“I didn’t meet you until after I’d been alive a few years, remember?” 

“Okay, that’s fair,” Finn says. He keeps stroking Puck’s dick, still biting and kissing along his shoulder. 

Puck laughs and tilts his head forward, resting it against Finn. “Thanks for the dispensation. I love you too.” 

The first time Puck wakes up on the morning of New Year’s Eve, he rolls a little closer to Finn, tucks his head against Finn’s shoulder, and closes his eyes again. Neither one of them has to get out of bed until they want to. Puck has to double-check the numbers one last time, even though he’s reviewing them in his head, but he’s almost certain that at some point that day he can tell Finn for sure that the bodega can be a thing of the past. They aren’t going to be rich off gigs in clubs in Brooklyn, but they’re making a living. Puck goes back to sleep with the thought that he can wait and wake up whenever he feels Finn moving, maybe. 

The second time Puck wakes up on the morning of New Year’s Eve, he doesn’t bother opening his eyes. It doesn’t feel like it’s been long since he was awake before, and Finn’s breathing is slow and steady. Puck smiles to himself and whispers “love you” before falling back asleep. 

The third time Puck wakes up on the morning of New Year’s Eve, he can tell by Finn’s breathing that he’s awake. Puck wiggles a little, closely the last distance between the two of them. He leaves his eyes closed as he takes a deep breath, feeling pretty damn content all in all. “Morning.” 

“Is it morning still?” Finn asks. “It feels too nice to be morning.”

“It’s our morning, anyway. Happy vacation day.” 

“Hey, yeah! Happy vacation day!” Finn says, wrapping his arms around Puck and holding him. 

Puck opens his eyes and looks up at Finn with a grin. “We kicked it off pretty well last night, I think.” 

“Yeah, we’re obviously the best ever at sex, so nobody else should even bother to try it,” Finn says. “We nailed it. We’re the best.”

“We should give ourselves encore performances, though,” Puck says. “We owe it to our… art, I guess you’d say.” 

“We’re true artists, and sex is our art.”

“Don’t tell anyone at our day job,” Puck says in an exaggerated whisper. “Er, night job.” 

“Well, we’re pretty good at music, too,” Finn says. 

“Misti might not like ‘good at music, better at sex’ as a band motto, though.” 

“Orrrrrr,” Finn says, “she might love it as a band motto, and want us to put it on all the shirts.”

“And then what if people ask us to prove it?” 

“Uh. Then we do?”

“I didn’t realize you were into public performance of that art,” Puck says, grinning at Finn. 

Finn shrugs, jostling Puck a little. “I never really thought about it, but I could be into it if you are.”

“You want to show off,” Puck says as the realization hits. “Don’t you?” 

“Uh. No?” Finn says, not sounding like ‘no’ is the answer he really means. 

“I’m going to remember that for after our sets,” Puck says. 

“Remember what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Puck laughs and then kisses Finn. “Okay, sure. Any special requests for _today_? Sex-related or otherwise.” 

“Can we spend some of our new riches to go out for hamburgers?” Finn asks. 

“Definitely. I think I have a gift for you of sorts. You want it now?” 

Finn rolls and props his head up on one hand. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Puck reaches off the side of the bed and pulls up what he needs on his phone, looking over it before dropping his phone again. “Okay, yeah. You really _don’t_ have to go back to the bodega.” 

“Huh?”

“I wanted to make sure last night’s gig paid what I thought it would and everything, first,” Puck says. “But we’re making enough at our gigs plus Saturday playground busking that you don’t have to go back to the bodega.” 

“So I never have to stack Takis again? Ever?” Finn asks. 

“As God as my witness, you never have to stack them again,” Puck says. “I’ll make clothes out of curtains first.” 

“I think this is the part where I’m supposed to be all _my hero_!” Finn says, finishing in a high-pitched voice that brings to mind unflattering memories of sophomore-year Kurt. 

“Nah, it makes you Rhett Butler.” 

“Oh. I never finished that book.”

“Nana loves the movie,” Puck says. “We should watch it sometime.” 

“Wait. There’s a _movie_ of it?” Finn asks. “How did I not know this?”

“You stopped watching Nana’s movies after that Frank Sinatra one from the ‘50s.” 

“Maybe we should rent that movie on Amazon today, then,” Finn says. 

“Cool. Remind me sometime in 2017 to call my brother and tell him he was right?” 

“Huh?”

“He told me you and I weren’t really _just_ best friends.” 

Finn laughs. “Well, yeah. I guess he was right, huh?”

“He definitely was,” Puck says. “Luckily for us.” 

“Yeah,” Finn says. He’s quiet for a minute, then he says, “Hey, do we still have Pop-Tarts?”

“I don’t care what Blaine says, they’re a reasonably healthy and portable meal,” Puck says, getting out of bed long enough to adjust the heater and grab a mostly-full box of Pop-Tarts. “One pack or two?” 

“I feel like living dangerous. Let’s go with two.”

Puck pulls out three packs and settles back on the bed, handing two of them to Finn. “Let’s continue that trend and eat in bed, damn the crumbs,” he says as he unwraps his Pop-Tarts and holds one up in Finn’s direction. “To this victory of these lions.” 

Finn taps his Pop-Tart to Puck’s. “And now you have to get back out of bed and turn up the heat, because this lion is very cold.”


End file.
